King Alistair
by dominicgrim
Summary: Alistair is now King of Ferelden. Now, he has to learn exactly what that means, do his duty, and try to hold onto his sanity and at least some of his dignity, Alistair plus oc, I don't own dragon age. mature content later possibly
1. Long Live the King

**King Alistair**

 _He watched as she left Ferelden for the last time._

King Alistair Theirin, formerly, Alistair of the Grey Wardens watched as the warden procession made its way out of the village of Redcliffe. He stood upon the parapet of the great castle, his eyes never leaving the company of men marching down the road to Orlais and beyond. The last time he had stood upon this tower had been almost ten years ago, he had been a boy then, a boy about to be cast out of the only home he had ever known…

Now he stood ruler of a nation, a ruler, and one of its saviors.

He sighed heavily.

His shirt and trousers were made of the finest black silk, the black iron breast plate had never seen battle and likely never would, but it was expected of him for the ceremony that had just concluded to look like the warrior everyone believed he was. His Father's sword was sheathed at his belt; the black cloak that covered his shoulders was trimmed in black bear fur. What he was wearing now likely would have fed an elven family in Denerim for a month.

It should have made him feel regal, like the king he was supposed to become; alas it did not do that…

He felt like a pretender, and idiot.

Kallian had been the real hero. He had just been along for the ride, now he had palace…

…and she had grave.

He fought back the tears that wanted to fall. He had cried too much since Fort Drakon, but always in private.

He was a king now.

It would not do to let his subjects see his pain, especially not for an elf.

Especially not for the woman he had loved, loved…then discarded.

His fingers curled into angry fists, he wished to dash them against the stone, to dash them bloody, yet he resisted that temptation.

The wounds from the last time had only just healed.

Wynne would likely not aid him this time, and even if she did, he would have to face the look on her face, that pitying look.

He did not wish to see that look again.

The honor guard protecting the casket was more heavily armed then most royal delegations, not that that was a surprise. The wardens were bearing precious cargo back to Weisshaupt, not just the body of the Hero of Ferelden, but the head of the Archdemon as well.

His eyes narrowed in hatred, the beast's skull and what remained would be examined once it reached the warden stronghold. It had been many years since the last Blight, a new generation of Warden Mages and Alchemists were no doubt curious about their fallen enemy. As for Kallian…she…she would…

He sniffled.

She would take a place of great honor. She would be laid in the great crypt beside her fellows, the heroes of the previous Blights, those brave men and women who had ended the threat of four previous Archdemons. A vision forever immortalized in marble, her name would be remembered forever. She would be a symbol of greatness and sacrifice for generations to come.

Yet…he would trade it all to see her again, to hear her laugh, to see her frown, to feel that friendly poke in the ribs when he said something stupid.

To feel her body pressed against his, her warm lips on his, to feel her legs…

A shuddering sob escaped him, he had tried to stop it, but he could not. He…he…

He had ended their relationship after the Landsmeet in Denerim. He had not wanted to, but he had had no choice. Kallian deserved more than to be known as the king's elven mistress, his…his whore…

He knew that some would say those words, even if they had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

He had hoped that she would find happiness, that she would meet another after they had ended the Blight. He…he had not known what was being asked of them, what it took to end the life of an Archdemon, and even when he did…

Kallian had not hesitated.

 _Ferelden needs its king, it does not need me._

Those words haunted him; they would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Kallian had been wrong.

She was needed.

He needed her.

Now…she was gone…

…and he was alone.

He put his head in his hands and sobbed.

He thought he was out of tears.

It appeared that he was wrong.

He cried for his loss, and for her.

He cried for the Hero of Ferelden, the **true** Hero of Ferelden.

 _His fellow warden._

 _His love._

She had been the true hero, he…he was just a fool, one day everyone likely come to see that.

He feared that day, the day that the people learned truly what they had lost.

…The day that he failed to save them…

…The day that he failed.

IOI

 **Six Months later:**

The Palace was a flurry of activity.

Eamon Guerein, Chancellor of Ferelden rushed down the halls of the Palace, a small army of advisors following in his wake. The former Arl of Redcliffe issued orders to this servant or that; everything had to be made perfect for tonight's festivities. This would be the first time since the Blight that the capital would be hosting the great and near great of Thedas.

He did not intend to disappoint them.

Seven months ago the Blight had ravaged this city, now it was well on the way to recovery, to rebirth. The line of Kings shattered by Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar had been remade in the form of King Alistair. Now it was time to start rebuilding that line.

Now it was time for His Majesty to start thinking about the future.

They were coming.

From Orlais, the Free Marches, Antiva, even as far away as Nevarra. Daughters of noble houses, whose names were almost as storied as Calenhad, the Silver Knight, they all descended on Denerim like moths to a flame.

The elder noble smiled to himself.

With a little luck, one of these fine ladies would finally free the King from shackles that had bound his heart these many months. For too long now Alistair had mourned the passing of the elven girl, his fellow warden. It was time for him to move on.

It was time for him to start thinking about the future of the Kingdom.

Ferelden was rebuilding, but it was slow work, hard work, an alliance could only help the process. If the king chose a girl from a wealthy noble house from across the waking sea, it would be a boon to his country, or a hindrance of nothing came out of the next few hours.

The chancellor pursed his lips.

Many eyes were on Ferelden right now, not all of them friendly. There were many in Orlais who would like nothing more to invade Ferelden while it was still weak. Then there were still plenty of Loghain loyalists hidden among the nobles. Men and women who still clung to the belief that Anora MacTir was still the rightful ruler of Ferelden…

Alistair needed to make a statement. He needed to show their enemies that Ferelden was not weak. He could best do that now by making new alliances…

An alliance sealed through matrimony would serve them best, not only would it bring them new resources, but it would also give the kingdom what it desperately needed.

The chance of an heir to the Throne of Calenhad, poor Cailan had failed the nation on that point, five years of marriage and still he remained childless…

Alistair could not afford to wait that long.

There were too many eyes watching.

There was too much at stake. Several lords crossed his path on the way to the throne room. Their daughters following in their wake, the Chancellor nodded respectfully to each of them. They smiled politely and continued on their way.

He glanced at each of them, wondering which one might hold the key to Ferelden's future.

He was confident that some good would come out of this event, with so many young ladies in attendance, how could it not?

Now all that was required was the guest of honor.

Where ever he was.

"All is in readiness, brother."

Arl Teagan of Redcliffe paused as he encountered the Chancellor and his entourage. Eamon was grateful that his younger brother was here. There was not as much…negative history between the King and the young lord. Sometimes, Eamon's past decisions affected his relationship Alistair, in those instances, Teagan's presence was invaluable.

Instances like now.

"Excellent Teagan, excellent," he said with a pleased nod, "Now all we need is the King and we will be ready to begin."

Teagan frowned.

"Alistair is not here, yet?"

"No," the chancellor sighed, "He went riding earlier, and has yet to return to the royal apartments, his guards returned, but his Majesty insisted that he take care of some business in the stables before tonight's…affair."

Teagan chuckled.

He had always been more amused by Alistair's antics than his elder brother.

"I will go and fetch him, brother," the Arl promised, "I trust that you can keep the guests calm until we arrive."

Eamon nodded, it would not be that difficult. He had planned for this after all, in the last seven months he had come to expect the king's reactions to certain events, to judge the young monarch's moods.

His mood involving tonight's event, was far from positive.

Alistair did his official duties well enough, but whenever Eamon even mentioned a search for a wife, the young monarch fled like the setting sun.

At first the chancellor had accepted this behavior; it could be chalked up to the king mourning the passing of his friend, but now, after six months…

It was time to let the past go.

Alistair had a duty to his kingdom.

It was time he lived up to it.

IOI

"Whoa! Easy there, now…easy!"

Alistair sighed as the pale mare whickered under his touch. She shook her muzzle as he tried again to sooth her.

The horse was a recent addition to the stable, a gift from the Bann of Waking Seas. The mare promised to be one of Alfstanna's finest chargers.

Eamon had called her a fitting gift for a new king, and a fine show of allegiance from the Bann of Waking Seas.

Now they just had to get her used to her new surroundings, the mare was quite spirited.

 _Trust was not an easy thing to gain_.

Alistair had taken her out this morning on a guideline. She had been saddled but had no rider. They needed her to get used to the weight, and the feel of a saddle, after that, they would see about a rider.

He was dressed simply today, white shirt, black trousers, and muddy riding boots. He would have felt a fool dressing up for such a mundane task. He had no desire to explain to anyone why his fine noble riding clothes got ruined should the mare get spooked and pull him into a pond or something.

No for something like this, he preferred to not stand out like some dandy fool. He had been a warrior once, a fine one.

Alistair frowned.

He was starting to miss those days.

He had spent the most of his time these last few months seeing to the countries reconstruction, not an easy thing in the aftermath of a Blight. The darkspawn horde had tainted so much of the land, it would be years before anything would grow there, if ever, and what did was certainly not fit to eat.

The King had put his people first. Everything he had done was to see to the welfare of his people. Eamon did not seem to understand the affect the Blight had on the southern Bannorn. It was just numbers to him; he had not seen the damage himself. Redcliffe had been fortunate; it had only suffered a minor darkspawn raid. There were parts of the south that were all but dead.

It would take time to nurse those lands back to health.

Then there was the matter of seeing to his obligations to their allies. Ferelden had not defeated the Blight on its own after all. They owed the mages a boon, the dwarves, and Dalish elves too, he could not just forget their contribution, there sacrifice.

His frown deepened.

He knew several lords that were already trying to rewrite what had happened here. They had hired scribes down playing the sacrifice of Fereldan's allies, and seeking to take full credit for the Archdemon's fall.

He had heard some of these tales himself. They spoke only of the battle of Denerim and the courage of the Ferelden knights. There was little mention of their allies, except for a minor mention of the circle of magi.

The dwarves and the elves were barely mentioned, likely destined to be forgotten, or at least they would have, if not for him.

Alistair refused to let such tales stand unchallenged. He had consulted his own scribes, telling the tale of the battle of the Denerim Alienage, how the elves of the city had fought as bravely as any knight, fighting with primitive bows and kitchen cleavers.

Dwarven soldiers had helped push the darkspawn back, but if not for the assistance of the city elves, the whole Alienage would have been lost.

Kallian's people would have been lost.

Alistair shook his head.

He had tried to do right by her, to honor her memory. He was doing everything he could for the elves. Many were understandably hesitant, for too long they had suffered under human cruelty. He wanted to change that, it would be difficult, but one day, he hoped to earn their trust.

He owed Kallian that much.

He intended to see what happened to her before the Blight to never happen again. Never again would a man like Vaughan Kendals hurt the people of the Alienage.

He would make sure of that.

The King sighed.

Maybe that was why he was so bothered by today's event. It seemed to be a waste of time and effort. If Ferelden needed allies he would make a treaty with his neighbors, there was no reason to have half the nobles in Thedas parading their daughters around like prize ponies.

The mere thought of it sickened him.

He knew that Eamon blamed his attitude on Kallian, but that just wasn't it. His feelings had nothing to do with his late love.

He would have to take a wife soon, to at least try and produce an heir. He knew that and accepted it. What he didn't want was to be simply the king to his future wife.

When she took him to her breast, he wanted her to know that there was more to him than just a crown. He had heard the tales of Anora and Cailan from the servants, the few that would talk. His brother and his wife would often spend weeks apart, and when they did see each other, few civil words were passed. Such tales had been kept from the people, but…

Alistair shook his head.

He wanted **more** than that. More than just a woman to try and give him heirs, he wanted someone he could talk to, someone who did not see him as a joke, or a bastard who had just gotten lucky.

He wanted…

He wanted…

He sighed heavily.

He wanted someone like Kallian, even though he knew that that was impossible.

All those women waiting in the palace, they had come for one purpose…

And it was **not** to make him happy.

He fed the mare an apple, she accepted it readily enough. Slowly, he was starting to earn her trust…

…One day he hoped to be worthy of it.

It was unlikely be he could hope.

He wiped the straw and dirt off his clothes; he needed to get back to the palace before Eamon sent out a search party.

He was not in the mood for another lecture about his kingly duties. He understood them quite well, thank you…

He wasn't any good at them, but at least he understood them.

He broke into a brisk walk hoping to get back to the royal apartments before anyone noticed he…

EEEEEP!

He had been moving too quickly, not watching where he was going.

He paid for that.

The young woman had been heading for the stables as briskly as he was leaving them; neither had had time to stop.

They collided like to jousting knights.

The girl went down, but not before snagging his shirt.

The king of Ferelden let out a tiny squawk as he fell.

They ended up in a tangle of limbs in a large mud puddle, dirty water rushed up his nose and into his mouth.

Sputtering Alistair tried to stand.

He reached down trying to find something solid, he found something soft wrapped in silk.

"What are you doing?!"

Alistair froze.

One of his hands grasped the girl's breast.

Oops.

The girl glared up at him, her raven hair wet, her fine golden gown stained brown and black with mud and muck from the stables.

Her blue eyes promised murder.

He…he wasn't sure what to do! He…He…

"I…um…"

 _Say something stupid!_

"Let go of me," the girl snarled.

He looked down at his hand, and her breast.

"Nice dress," he said, "Very soft."

The girl snarled.

She flipped him into the mud, hard.

He coughed and came up sputtering. The girl had finally climbed out of the mud hole. Raised voices could already be heard approaching, that and the sound of armored boots.

Alistair glanced down at the mess that was him.

How was he going to explain this?

The girl was wiping at her dress, but it was unlikely that the muck would ever fully come off.

"What did you think you were doing?" she demanded.

He shrugged.

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Father is going to kill me; I can't meet the king looking like this! I…"

Three guards arrived.

"Thank the Maker you're here," she said, "I…"

The guards ignored her; they went to Alistair's aid.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty," the lead guard inquired.

That stopped the girl cold.

Her jaw fell open, her cheeks turned scarlet.

Alistair gave her wan smile.

"Well," he said, "At least you got to meet the king."

The girl fled, leaving the guards to fish their monarch out of a mud puddle.

He coughed, watching her retreating form.

It was then that Teagan arrived. He took one look at the scene and chuckled.

"This looks familiar," he quipped.

Alistair sighed.

He supposed it did.

He shook his head.

 _Long live the King._


	2. The Lady in Gold

**A/N: Last chapter we caught up with Alistair, now we meet the woman who he…** _ **met**_ **with at the end of last chapter. Hope you like her.**

 **DG**

 **Chapter 2: The Lady in Gold**

 _Fascinating._

It was the only word she could think to describe it. Most people would not have noticed the difference, but, if one was clever and observant…it was impossible not to tell.

Bridget smiled, pleased with herself, quickly she pulled out her pad, and a tiny piece of coal, and began to sketch. She would need to work fast of course, they would be proceeding on soon, back to her Aunt's estate in Waking Seas, but still…there was still time.

 _Time enough for learning._

 _Time enough, for the expansion of science._

The Lady Bridget Glass, formerly of the noble House of Keir stared intently on her work, showing the focus of a true born scholar. Bridget, or Bea as she was known to her friends and family, had been curious about the world since she had been very small. Her father had always chuckled, and said that she had learned the word "why" even before she could say "Mama" or "Papa." As a girl, she was always collecting insects and small animals and bringing them home, much to the amusement of her two brothers, and the horror of her elder sister. Father had not really understood her reason behind these…studies, but was content to let her continue them as long as she did nothing to jeopardize her future. It was the call of that future that had brought her here back to Ferelden, far from the halls and libraries of the university.

Alas, that had not worked out very well, and now she was being sent away, before the king decided to have her locked in irons.

Father had been both furious and terrified when she told him what happened, when she tried to explain how she had ended up covered in mud. He half expected the king to imprison their entire family, to have them all locked up because his little Bea had _assaulted_ the new Monarch of Ferelden.

Some assault, she thought, he bumped into me.

If the fault was anyone, it was his, though she would never speak so to anyone.

When dealing with royalty, it was best to keep ones opinions close at hand.

Her time in Orlais taught her to be wary of the capriciousness of those of royal blood. The game was dangerous, even if this Fereldans did not recognize that it was played here. They could not risk their family's safety, not given their history.

It was better to be safe than sorry, and so…they had fled.

At least she had had time to change first, her gown had been ruined; not that she had been comfortable in the overblown thing. She had always preferred function to form. The blouse and skirt she now wore was fine made, but by no means spoke of nobility.

Which was quite well and good, she would have felt the fool travelling the countryside looking like was on the way to a grand masquerade. She honestly did not know how some of her peers back in the university did it.

Why wear a mask and finery when you were trudging through some swamp in search of knowledge. It was ridiculous.

She tried explaining that to her family once, but none had listened, not even her beloved older sister…

…Especially her older sister.

They were only three years apart, but it sometimes seemed that they were as different as night and day. Her sister lived for politics, while Bea just sought to navigate them safely.

It was for her sake alone that they had come, so she was understandably annoyed with Bea right now.

Margaret had been more than unhappy with their quick departure, in fact she had been furious. She viewed this flight as a lost opportunity. She still believed that given her chance she could have caught the king's eye, assured all their futures. That **she** , Lady Margaret Glass, would have been the one to elevate their family from the ranks of lower _nobility_ to that of high _royalty_. She thought that her little sister had cost her that chance.

 _Not that she had had any choice;_ Bea thought grimly, _it is not like I planned to cause such a faux pas_.

Personally, she thought her sister was over simplifying the matter. It was not like the king did not have many noble ladies to choose from at the gathering, many of those ladies far more well-connected, and favored than she…no matter how beautiful she thought herself.

No, Bea doubted that it would have been that easy. Margaret was beautiful, but so were many of the other noble ladies. She would have been just another drop of water in a grand ocean.

The party likely would have resulted in her dear sister's supreme disappointment.

Bea worked quickly on her drawing, sketching both the pedals, and the stem, to the unenlightened; the wildflower was not so different from the thousands of other wildflowers that dotted the fields of northern Ferelden. It was just one of many that grew in small patches on the king's road, but…with one slight difference.

 _The flower…had been changed._

She paused in her work, studying the stem, and the markings that could be found there, and…what…if she was not mistaken looked like thorns starting to form, wasn't that just interesting. She was quite familiar with this type of plant; she had seen plenty of them in her travels. This type of flower never grew thorns…

Of course, that was before the Blight…

…Before the coming of the Archdemon, Urthemiel.

Less than a year ago, the darkspawn horde marched across this field, destroying everything in their wake. The scars of their passage still dotted the land. The monsters had advanced on distant Denerim, with the Archdemon itself, soaring overhead.

Bridget pursed her lips.

The darkspawn had been moving fast, too quickly to be complete in their work. They had destroyed much in their passing, but pockets of life, had survived.

Survived, but had not escaped untouched.

She put down her pad and reached into her pack, producing a pair of heavy armored gloves, the plates would never have stopped a good steel blade, and they were too small to be of use to a warrior, but for what the lady had in mind, they were perfect.

She gently touched the blossom, turning it this way and that, careful to not break it. She was eager to see what she might have missed in her early sketch. She then inspected the thorns; they seemed sharper and more prevalent then what she was used to.

She pulled back the glove, noticing a dark substance staining one of the plates.

 _Fascinating._

She took out a small cloth, and wiped off the strange liquid, it quickly went into a tiny glass jar, a jar that she would send back to the University of Orlais as soon as she got the chance, for study.

A hint of a smile played across her lips.

 _Her professors were going to be so jealous._

Though she had been born Fereldan, she had spent the last three years in Orlais. Her Father had originally not been pleased by her decision to attend the University, but unlike her siblings, Bea had a little more wiggle room when it came to her life choices.

The advantage she supposed to being the fourth born child.

The gathering arranged by Chancellor Eamon allowed the Glass Family to return to court for the first time in years. Margaret went to be noticed, but Bea had other ideas.

She preferred advancing knowledge to parading around in a pretty dress. Though chance demanded that she do both.

She had been willing to put up with the latter, if she could indulge the former.

No Orlesian scholars had been allowed into Ferelden after the Blight. The nobles of Ferelden saw no need for them.

 _No need,_ _indeed,_ Bea thought shaking her head.

 _What fools people could be._

She had found herself in a unique position. She was not simply another scholar; she was a noble lady returning home. It gave her the perfect opportunity to do some research, some real research.

How could any learned person pass such an opportunity up?

It had been centuries since the last Blight, _centuries._ Academia, as it exists today, had not even been dreamt of yet, back then. The chantry saw no value in studying the darkspawn. In the eyes of the mothers, there was nothing to know.

The monsters were evil, an insult to the Maker that did not deserve to exist.

Such backward thinking had no doubt doomed many lives over the years.

If we knew more, maybe would could have fought them better. Found a way to protect ourselves against the sickness the creatures spread. Such knowledge would have been invaluable.

But such studies had never been made, the creatures remained a mystery, except perhaps to the Grey Wardens, and the order was not known for its willingness to talk about their ancient enemy.

If anything, they were worse than the chantry.

To her knowledge, the grey wardens did not permit hunting parties to take darkspawn bodies from the deep roads. No scholar had ever dissecting one of the beasts, which was amazing in and of itself. The monsters had ravaged the world five times now, and still the scholars of Thedas knew next to nothing about them. How long did they live? How did they function with the Blight sickness burning in their veins? Was it true that they possessed a hive mind like insects? They wore armor and carried blades, how did they know how to make such weapons?

Was it possible to cure the Blight sickness, or at least arrest its symptoms?

Study might have given the world those answers, but no one had bothered to ask the questions, not academically anyway.

No one knew what might be learned. The Grey Wardens seemed more interested in killing the beasts that understanding them. That was a mistake, in Bea's eyes.

How can you truly defeat something you do not entirely understand?

It was…an interesting question…

…One that would likely never be answered.

When she had left Orlais, she had promised her professors a treatise on the effects of the Blight on the Ferelden countryside, the effect on both the people and wildlife. If the passing of the horde could do this to a simple flower, what else might it have done?

It was an intriguing question, to be sure.

"Milady?"

She sighed, recognizing the voice of one of her maids. Their family might not have been as wealthy as most, but they still needed to keep up appearances.

She smiled innocently as she put her pad, and sample jar away.

"Yes, Naya, what is it?"

The elven girl bowed respectfully.

"Your father wishes to press on, Milady," she said, He still hopes to reach one of your Aunt's estate's before dark."

Bridget sighed.

They had left in such a hurry that they had not even taken the time to contact their full escort. Now they were on the road racing the sun. Everyone had heard the stories of course, the chaos that the roads had become since the end of the Blight. Cutthroats and brigands were always on the prowl for unwary travelers, there were even rumors of rogue darkspawn who had not retreated when the Blight ended.

These creatures preferred to hunt after dark, always eager to fall upon the undefended.

Such talk was more than enough to speed any noble along on their journey.

Bridget rose wiping idly at the coal dust on her fingers and followed after the maid. Still her enlightened eye flowed over the rolling countryside, taking note of the various signs of the now ended Blight.

She frowned.

So many questions, so many questions unanswered.

And now they were leaving because she had blundered into the king, most unfortunate.

She found herself thinking about the young man she had encountered. He…he had not seemed like most nobles she had encountered, in fact he had seemed as mortified by their…meeting as she.

She pursed her lips in thought.

He had flung no insults, had not blamed her in the least for what had happened, even when she flung him back in the mud.

She had been angry, and then after they fell, when he grouped her, accidently of course, but…

It never occurred to her that he might be of noble birth; he certainly had not been dressed that way.

When she found out he was, she had panicked, and why not…?

 _Had his father not put her late uncle's head on a spike?_ _If he found out who she was…would he not do the same?_

She had expected outrage, but had found none.

He had not even seemed angry, in fact, he had seemed as shocked as she had been.

…An odd thing to do for a royal. She had heard it said that Alistair of Ferelden was a soft touch…

Maybe those rumors were true.

She found herself imagining his face, both of them soaked and covered in mud. Had he been anyone else, it might have been amusing.

At least you got to meet the king, she remembered him saying.

The comment brought a slight smile to her lips.

Perhaps they had overreacted, perhaps…

Such thoughts gave her pause.

Had they not met in that way, would it have been possible to speak with King Alistair? He had fought at the side of the Hero of Ferelden people said.

He had even been there when she died.

That thought banished all amusement from her mind.

What could the king of told her?

What secrets might he have shared?

Bea sighed heavily.

Perhaps her sister had been right; this had been a missed opportunity, one that she would have to live with.

Such opportunities did not come around every day, and once they were gone. They were gone.

One thing she could say for certain.

It was likely she would never get another.

She would never see the King again.

Such a shame, she thought.

Such a shame.


	3. The King's Problems

**Chapter 3: The King's Problems**

 _Who were you?_

Since taking the throne, that question had entered Alistair's head many times, and so far he had yet to find a satisfactory answer. It came when he travelled the palace district, looking at the statues made long ago to honor his father. It came when he looked at the portraits, the many generations of Fereldan Kings, his kin. These portraits were hidden during the days of the Orlesian occupation, lest the usurper Meghren destroyed them all in a fit of pique…

They had survived of course, just as the blood of Calenhad had survived. The last to be made was of King Maric, and it was this one that always drew Alistair's attention.

 _Who were you, Your Majesty_ , he thought, staring up at the man's strong face, a face that held such a strong resemblance to his own.

It…it felt strange looking up into that face, knowing the legend, knowing what Maric had done. He had freed his people, brought Ferelden back to a place of honor in this world. The legend of Maric the Savior, the Rebel Prince was still spoken of with great respect and reverence.

 _Yes, but who were you? How did you see yourself? Were you always just the king…?_

 _Or…were…were you also…did you also see me as your son…?_

 _Did you ever imagine_ me _calling you…_ _ **Father?**_

Alistair stared up into those cold eyes, the same eyes that had looked upon the Orlesian usurper and ended him, the same eyes that had watched over Ferelden, guiding it with a strong yet gentle hand…

The young king frowned.

The same eyes that saw a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, that found her desirable, or at least a decent distraction for the night, a liaison that resulted in him being here, an unwanted child, abandoned by his father, now thrust onto the very throne that that same father never wanted him to have.

Alistair shook his head.

It was hard to separate the legend from the man now, to see the flawed man who had once sat on Ferelden's throne. Too many great things had happened around him, after all that, it was easy to see how the flaws could be overlooked.

Maric's actions had forged modern Ferelden, but at the same time, nearly destroyed it as well. His disappearance almost six years ago now had set in motion the events that had eventually had led to the Fereldan Civil War. Few nobles believed that Maric would have fallen so easily into the trap that Teyrn Loghain had set for his son. Few believed that Loghain would have even dared attempt such a thing if Maric had still been sitting on the throne.

Maric had been both loved and feared. Had he still sat on Ferelden's throne, would Teyrn Loghain still have betrayed him? Would Maric of met the same end as his first born son, or would Loghain have remained true to his duty? Would he have fought for both his country and King?

It was hard to say, Maric and Loghain had been like brothers, or so many people still said. The Teyrn had stood at Cailan's side many times, protecting him, guiding him down the past to wisdom…

 _Ostagar had changed that._

Alistair moved passed the portrait of his father, pausing at the last empty alcove, the spot reserved for Cailan's portrait. It would soon find its way here, as Cailan Theirin passed into history, just as his legendary father did.

One day, the legend would be all that was left. None would speak of Cailan's flaws. His womanizing, his lack of commitment to the throne, his choice to face the darkspawn horde that not only outnumbered him, but…nearly doomed his country as well. All those flaws would be forgotten, he would forever be good King Cailan, martyred ruler of Ferelden, victim of the darkspawn horde.

Alistair knew little about the man his brother truly was, they had only met a handful of times at Ostagar, and never had words passed between them. Had Cailan known about him? Probably, but if he had, he clearly had never considered his half-brother a threat; the former Templar turned Grey Warden…

In the end, it had not mattered, Cailan was gone, and Alistair was left to clean up the mess he had left behind, to rebuild the country, and earn his peoples trust.

It was a nearly impossible task, and with Kallian gone, it would be even more so. Still, he had Eamon and Teagan at his side.

They would do what they could…

…Though he feared that that would not be enough.

He made his way to the throne room, dressed for court, his shirt, trousers, shone with wealth; his great cloak was colored a deep bright crimson.

It drug behind him as he walked, all it would take was one guard stepping just right, and the king would find himself flat on his back on the hard stone floor.

One day that would likely happen, he feared, a minor embarrassment further revealing just how far Ferelden's royal line had fallen. After the failure of his attempt to impress the young ladies of Thedas, it would be just another misstep, another log on the pyre of his kingly reign.

So far he had avoided being roasted on that particular spit, but it was only a matter of time, he feared.

It was simply a matter of time.

IOI

A few hours later, he retreated back to the royal apartments, his head spinning from the latest batch of problems that had been dropped on him by his loyal subjects.

Most of them were to be expected, what his chancellor had called the normal issues of the crown, he would deal with them the best he could, but it was unlikely he would be able to please everyone with his decisions.

The western nobles wanted troops to defend against possible Orlesian incursions.

The southern nobles wanted coin to help rebuild, and promises that the Dalish that Alistair had granted Ostagar would not start raiding their holdings.

The northern nobles wanted assurances that their taxes would not be raised to pay for the rebuilding in the south.

The eastern nobles, who had many allies in the south demanded that the north pay their fair share.

Problems, problems and more problems, Alistair thought with a sigh, and not a glimmer of hope for the end in sight.

He flopped back into a chair near the fireplace, the hearth burned brightly, but the chill of the old stones never seemed to leave this place, except when they chose to settle into his bones.

He once again pursed his lips in frustration, once again he asked himself if Kallian had made a mistake, if she had chosen poorly in elevating him to the rank of king?

On days like today, he wondered if it would not have been better had Anora Mac Tyr remained queen, if she would have better luck attempting to rebuild their damaged country.

Eamon would have said no, but he was hardly impartial. So he turned to the one person who he could trust, the one who had followed him back to his apartments. He could always count on her to speak plainly to him. After all, she was one who had also been elevated from nothing, just as he was.

She never disappointed him.

She never failed to speak the truth.

He needed that, no matter how much it hurt.

"Well," she began, "At least you did not start another war."

Alistair glared at her, but there was little heat in his eyes.

He needed at least someone to speak the truth to him, even it if wasn't very popular.

"True enough, Shianni," he replied, "True enough."

Bann Shianni of the Alienage was not your typical Fereldan noble; in fact she was likely like no other noble found in Thedas. First of all, she was an elf, pale skinned with short fiery red hair done up in tiny braids. She fidgeted in her court clothes, as uncomfortable in them as he was in his.

She was also Kallian's cousin. Sharing a blood tie to the Hero of Ferelden meant that few on the court questioned her elevation to the nobility. She was also a bit of a fire brand; there were few nobles on the court who had not been on the receiving end of one of her tirades.

Never had the elves of Ferelden had a voice on the royal court, Shianni intended to make up for that. She intended to improve her people's lot, and Alistair did nothing to stop her, in fact, he supported her openly.

It was a situation that had not made him terribly popular of late.

The Bann paced before the fire, still worked up after her latest dust up with Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine. Shianni intended to see conditions improved for elves working on the docks of Amaranthine. Esmerelle was resisting her. If not for Eamon's intervention, the two women might have come to blows right in the throne room.

The sight had made Alistair chuckle.

He did not know if he should have been appalled, or prepared to place a bet.

Shianni had not attended the gathering of ladies that Eamon had sponsored; problems in the Denerim Alienage had prevented that, though she had heard the stories, just like everyone else.

Alistair sighed.

Shianni was not wrong, after his little…incident in the stables…

It was lucky that Ferelden was not facing the threat of a new war.

He half expected to discover that the girl he had encountered was the daughter of one of Empress Celene's favorite cousins, or perhaps a niece of the King of Nevarra. That her noble kin had decided to take up the cause of getting the young woman satisfaction….

…That they were prepared to see all of Ferelden pay for her embarrassment. Fortunately, for both him, and Ferelden, that had not happened, not that that had improved the night any.

If anything, it had likely gone from bad to worse.

The noble girls Eamon had assembled; they did not know what to make of Ferelden's new king. Cailan had been a known commodity to them. Alistair…well…

…He caught them all off guard.

Shianni gave him a concerned look.

"So," she began, "How bad was it?"

"It was… _awkward_ ," he said with a snort, "That is as good a word as any."

Her ears twitched with curiosity.

"Awkward, how?" she inquired.

Now he did chuckle.

"Weeeell," he began, "Chancellor Eamon had three young ladies lined up. Ladies he had _hoped_ would do well if they became my queen."

"Sound's good so far," the elf shrugged.

Oh, you haven't heard the best part," he said, "What the Chancellor did not know was that two of the three were former mistresses of my brother, mistresses that did not like each other very much, one had been thrown off because of the other, and there was still a lot of bad blood there. They almost came to blows, right there on the dance floor. As for the third, well, the third was already engaged, but was more than willing to break it off should I choose to pursue her in a more…physically romantic fashion."

Shianni gave him a surprised look.

"She told you that?"

"Her father did actually," he answered, "He assured me that his daughter would do what was expected of her, and if I…needed proof on that, I should consider inviting his daughter back to my chambers."

Alistair blushed as he told her that last part.

"He was… confident, that his dearest child could fulfill my needs."

Shianni's reaction was quite telling on that last part.

"Ugh," the Bann replied, shaking her head, "What is wrong with some people? Are all shemlen nobles so touched?"

Alistair snorted at that.

"Touched is not the word I would use," he said.

"How about gross," Shianni offered.

"No," he said.

"Desperate?"

"Maybe."

"Lacking morals found even in the lowest of Mabari?"

"I don't…"

The lowest of the low, even among the highest…"

"Shianni?"

"Yes?"

The king shook his head.

"I get the point."

The elf snorted and resumed her pacing. Alistair watched her with an amused look. There were no romantic feelings between the two of them, but that did not mean that he did not care about her welfare. She was the only thing he had left of his poor lost Kallian.

He intended to do what was necessary to keep her safe.

It had taken time to get Shianni to open up to him. Kallian had told her a little about the two of them, but that had not been enough. The new Bann had a serious distrust of human nobles, considering what Kallian had told him about her failed wedding; it was not hard to guess why.

It had taken a bit of doing, but after all these months Shianni finally accepted the fact that he was nothing like the late unlamented Vaughan Kendals, the noble who had assaulted her almost two years ago. During their first couple of meetings, Shianni had been almost openly hostile to him, no doubt believing that he had some ulterior motive promoting her beyond honoring her late cousin's memory.

Shianni was stubborn, but that was no vice. He had worked hard to earn her respect, and now that he had, he could see why Kallian had trusted Shianni so much. She had the heart of a lion.

Her people would need that if they were to continue to find their way in his new Ferelden.

"It is important not to panic," she said, "After all, things could have gone worse."

He gave her an arched look.

"How?" he inquired.

"Besides dousing some girl in a mud puddle, you performed well according to the chancellor."

"That is the problem Shianni; I needed to perform **more** than well. There are more than a few people in Ferelden who no doubt think I don't deserve my father's throne. Those people are looking for any excuse to push the bastard prince off it; an alliance through marriage would have strengthened my position, but…"

Alistair leaned back in his chair. He hated to say it, but he feared that all of Eamon's work on his behalf was for naught. He was no closer to finding a queen than he had been before the whole affair. That was not good…

…Time was definitely not on his side.

As a grey warden, it would already be difficult for him to produce a child, the taint in his blood already made that quite difficult. The longer he waited the more unlikely his chances would become.

Shianni put her right hand to her lips, he had seen her do that before, usually when she some idea was taking shape in her mind.

"Do you have any ideas," he asked.

The elf turned to him.

"You could always accept an arranged marriage…that would likely make the chancellor and the court happy; who knows you might even find someone you actually like…"

Alistair frowned at that. It was a possibility, but the very idea of it made him feel ill. What noble would actually want to saddle his daughter with someone like him?

So what was the alternative then?

He sighed.

He was worried that there wasn't one.

"It is a possibility," he said, "Though I hope it isn't the only one."

Shianni nodded, but said no more, likely trying to think of what to do next.

He needed a way to turn this all around.

The nobles had all feared that his bloodline had died with Cailan, if Alistair did nothing that is exactly what would happen. Still he was not quite ready to simply lay back and accept an arranged marriage, a marriage that might not even give him the heir his country needed.

He needed to come up with a plan, and fast.

No doubt word of his abysmal behavior towards the ladies at his latest function was already spreading throughout noble circles. He might have the crown, but feared that he might lose the respect of his vassals, if that happened, any chance of an alliance might dry up. He needed to do something to stop that before it got worse.

He needed to show that he was capable of kingly virtues, even though he was not sure what that meant.

In his mind he could almost see Kallian glaring at him, she had done that often during their journey against the Blight; he felt he was missing something, but…

Shianni blinked, and then a smile came across her face.

"Wait, the girl," she said.

"What girl?"

"The girl at the stables, what was her name?"

Alistair blinked.

"We did not get a chance to exchange names; being covered in mud will do that to you."

Shianni's ears twitched.

"You said you have heard nothing from the girl's family, right?"

"That is a good thing, Shianni that means I did not insult some high noble with my blundering."

The elven Bann smirked.

"I think you need to find that girl."

"Why? I…don't think…"

Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to punish her Shianni. I bumped into her; she doesn't deserve to be punished so that I can play the strong king."

"I don't think you should punish her," the elf answered, "Having been on the business end of royal outrage, I…I would..."

She did not finish that sentence, she did not need to.

Again Alistair felt like a fool.

Once again he had put his mouth into his foot.

"I think," she continued, "that you should apologize to the girl."

"I doubt she would accept."

"Oh she would, of course she would, what girl would not be flattered by king apologizing for something that might have been her fault as much as his."

Alistair considered that.

The girl would not have been invited if she did not have at least some noble support. If Alistair got on her family's good side, that might go a long way in silencing some of his detractors.

Not to mention the fact that it would take some of the strain off his conscience. He had not intended to harm anyone that night.

Apologizing would go a long way towards doing that.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

He would summon the girl to court, and formally apologize. He would appear the bigger man, and girl's family would gain prestige by his act.

Both sides would win.

He smiled slightly.

Now he just needed to find her.

He turned to Shianni.

"I don't suppose the elven servants helped a girl covered in mud the day of the party?"

"They probably did," she answered.

"I don't suppose they might have gotten her name?"

"They might have," Shianni chuckled, "But why do you suppose they would share that information with you."

"Well…I am king…sort of."

The Bann smirked.

"I'll see what I can do."


	4. A Glass House

**Chapter 4: A Glass House**

" **Where are my children?"**

Father's summons awoke Bea from her musings; she had been putting the finishing touches on the paper she had intended to send back to the University of Orlais. She had been thorough, checking it for any error, any mistake that some rival might decide to pounce on to discredit her work.

Academia could be vicious, but it did not hold a candle to the Empress's court. The Great Game was everywhere in Orlais. Many a noble son or daughter had fled to the University to escape it, but still the reach of politics continued to follow them.

Bridget pursed her lips.

She had been fortunate. Her work was well respected, but had yet to garner the attention that could lead to true envy from her peers. If that ever changed she would likely need the skills that father had tried to drum into since the earliest days of her childhood.

Margaret had been doing needle point when her father had called out. Bea's elder sister put down her sewing and gestured to the door.

"Come, sister," she purred, "You can finish playing with your gardening later."

Bea frowned and glared as Margaret disappeared into the hallway.

 _Gardening, indeed,_ she thought.

Botany was far beyond mere gardening. The lives of plants could be just as vicious as animals. They stretched and struggled for their place in the sun. Thorns and toxins protected them from predators, while sweet smells and sticky seeds allowed them to spread beyond their initial growing points.

No, she thought, botany was more than simple gardening; it was the understanding of a whole new world. A world often underestimated by the desires of man.

She rose from her chair, glancing one last time at her work, hoping that her last glance would help keep her ideas fresh in her head.

Writer's block was the enemy of anyone who chose the art of word craft as part of their vocation. She would need to keep on track, lest she write something…less than acceptable to her instructors back in Val Royeaux.

She almost smiled.

She was looking forward to returning to the imperial capital. Now that this ridiculous business with the King was done, she could finally get back to her studies.

Let Margaret have her dreams of life at court. Bea had her own ambitions, and they had little to do with flattering conversation and sideways glances filled with jealousy and scorn.

Court life was not for everyone.

It was certainly not the life that **she** wanted.

She made her way downstairs, lest her father send out a search party, not that they would need to search very hard.

The Glass home was far from a high noble's estate. It was comfortable, but far from luxurious. Three servants attended the household and grounds. The two story building had been a summer home for the Banns of the Waking Seas before Alfstanna had offered it to her distant relatives.

Bea knew that her father only saw it as a brief stopover on the road to greater things. After years of keeping his head down, Ser Nathaniel Glass was finally ready to step back into the fray of Ferelden politics.

Maker help them all.

She arrived to find that rest of their small clan had already gathered. Margaret curtseyed to Father before taking her place at his side. Their older brother Quentin, looking very impressive in a silk shirt and breeches sat at the small dinner table. In the corner…

Bea smiled.

"Arland!" she exclaimed.

Her eldest brother smiled.

"Hello little one," he cooed.

She ran an embraced him.

Arland Glass had taken a far different road than their father. While Ser Nathaniel had chosen a life of words and politics, his eldest had chosen to take up the sword and shield. While they had sheltered in Orlais during the worst of the Blight, Arland had stayed behind in the King's service.

Bea frowned.

"Oh brother," she murmured, "You…oh your poor eye."

Her older brother chuckled and touched the eye patch that covered the left side of his face.

"It is just an eye sister," he shrugged, "The Maker saw fit to gift me with a spare, and so…I am content."

She nodded and embraced him tightly again.

"I'm so glad your home, home and safe!"

Her father cleared his throat loudly, getting both their attention.

His eldest and youngest turned to face him.

Their father held up a piece of parchment, bearing the royal seal. His face was unreadable, but that was not surprising.

Nathaniel Glass made a living keeping his true feelings hidden.

"We have been summoned to court," he informed his family.

Margaret brightened at the news. Yet, her father remained somber.

"All of us?"

"Apparently," her father said, he looked directly at his youngest.

"The King wishes a word with you, dear Bridget."

Her blue eyes widened.

She…she…

The king…he wanted to speak to her? Her?

She froze; a sense of icy dread went through her.

Sweet Andraste, she thought.

No.

Margaret gave her a worried look.

"Oh sister," she murmured, "poor you."

Quentin swallowed hard; he looked at his sister like she was going to the gallows.

"This is bad isn't it?" he asked.

"It is neither bad or good," their father said, "The letter merely says the king wishes to speak with your sister no more no less."

All the color drained from Bea's face, she…she…

She found herself thinking of the hundreds of stories she had heard in Orlais about what happened to lower level nobles who embarrassed those above them, bloody vengeful stories all. She…she…

 _Oh Maker._

 _I didn't mean to bump into him!_

 _It was an_ _ **accident!**_

"Stop it!"

Arland's voice cut through the panic. It was a voice that commanded men on the battlefield that demanded order. Considering the somberness and fear, that was likely a good thing.

Panic would not help here.

Arland shook his head.

He glared at his father and siblings.

"You're all scaring Bea," he said flatly.

She gave him a worried look.

"Should I not be scared, brother?"

The eldest son snorted.

"Had the king wanted you punished, he would have sent guardsmen, not a letter."

He gave his father a disapproving look.

"You have spent too much time fawning before the nobles of the Empire, Father."

Nathaniel glared at his eldest.

Bea swallowed. For a moment she had feared another fight between her brother and father.

They were both very stubborn men.

It had happened before.

IOI

The Glass family had relatives on both sides of the Frostbacks. Their grandmother had been Orlesian after all. The daughter of a Comte who had wed Father's older brother when he was still young, Bann Keir had won favor from the late and unlamented King Meghren by betraying Moira Theirin to the Orlesians…

That act had cost him his life a few years later. King Maric himself was said to have executed their uncle. After that, Bannorn had fallen to another of Ser Nathaniel's older brothers. The whole family had been poised to join the Orlesians against the rebel army…

…All…except two.

Bea's Aunt Lizbeth, who had been courting a young knight from Waking Seas, fled the family estate, taking her little brother Nathaniel with her. Ser Byron Glass and his family had sheltered the two young nobles. When Lizbeth married, both she and her brother had taken the name Glass, forever distancing themselves from their Orlesian supporting relatives, or so they had thought.

When Maric finally decided to open up a dialogue with Orlais, it had been a young Nathaniel Glass who had approached his grandmother's family. It was through those meetings that the Glass family had started to build their fortunes. Nathaniel had been knighted for his work during those changing times, he had friend in both Ferelden and the Empire, he could have become a powerful man, but he had never dared to venture too close to Denerim, not with Loghain MacTir there.

The Teyrn of Gwaren saw all Fereldans attempting to open trade with Orlais as possible traitors, given their relationship to the late Bann Keir…

The actions of Bann Keir still haunted the Glass family. It was a mark they would likely never escape.

Ser Nathaniel feared that above all else. So he stayed out of court, far from Loghain and his allies.

Out of sight was better, safer; Ser Nathaniel chose to work behind the scenes.

When King Maric had gone missing it had gotten worse. Cailan might have sat on the throne, but Anora had ruled, with her father never far from her side. When news of Ostagar had first broken Nathaniel and the bulk of their family was still in Val Royeaux, Bann Alfstanna gave them the necessary excuses to stay there. Ser Nathaniel had made her a great deal of money after all. She had felt it worth it to protect them. Had she not, they might all have come to a bad end after Ostagar. Rendon Howe had been relentless in eliminating any he accused of consorting with their enemies.

So they had stayed, all but Arland who was serving in the army. Father had written him, informing him of the family's situation. It was a wiser course of action that they stay far away from embattled Ferelden.

Their eldest brother had not seen it as wise, he saw it as cowardice.

Arland had never understood the caution; his father had been forced to live under. He was Ferelden born. They all were Ferelden born. He loved his country.

Arland was also a simple man. He did not like the political maneuvers that his Father was forced to use as he navigated the waters of Orlesian politics. By the time of the Blight Father could have retired to a nice estate and left such matters to his agents. He could have distanced himself from all the backstabbing and money grubbing.

He did not appreciate his father's knowledge of subtle machinations.

Arland wanted to be proud of his father. He did not understand why his father did not stand up and take credit for his good work. He had started to feel smothered, that was part of the reason he had left in the first place.

Arland had won honors during the Siege of Denerim. That, along with the deaths of both Loghain MacTir and Rendon Howe, had finally convinced Ser Glass to bring his children home. It was time to see to his children's futures…

Of course, it now seemed that the fights of the past were about to start up again.

Bea shook her head.

Not again.

IOI

"I kept us safe, boy," Ser Nathaniel growled, "Not all of us are warriors after all."

Arland glared at his father, no doubt trying to come up with the proper angry retort, but in the end he let it go, with a sigh.

"Just…just don't scare Bea, all right," he said sounding tired.

He turned to his younger sister.

"The King is not like other nobles," he informed her, "He was a soldier first, and a commoner before that. If he asks for an apology give it to him."

"What if he wants **more** than an apology?" Quentin asked.

Both Bea and Arland glared at him.

"I'm just asking?" Quentin said raising his hands.

Bea shivered.

She had not thought of that.

Nobles in Orlais, some of them had certain appetites, if one needed their aid, they might have to be willing to…to…feed those appetites.

She had never been in that position before, but had heard of people that had.

It was enough to give anyone pause.

Once again, Arland came to her rescue.

"The king is not like that Quentin," he said.

"It would be easier if he was," their father sighed.

Arland did not even respond to that statement. Instead he forced his sister to look him in the eye.

"Be honest with the King," he advised, "Answer his questions, and be yourself."

She gave him a slightly worried look.

"Are you certain that is a good idea? I'm not exactly…typical."

Arland smiled for the first time.

"Neither is the King," he reminded her, "That is a good thing."

He gave Ser Nathaniel a hard look.

"Father," he began, "I know your first instinct will be to try to turn this meeting to your advantage. I advise you not to. Let Bridget meet with the king, then let them go on their separate ways, for her sake if for nothing else."

Their father glanced down at the paper, and sighed.

"You would not last long at court, son," he murmured.

The younger man smiled slightly.

"I take that as a compliment, ser."

Margaret gave them all a pouty look.

"What about me? Should I say nothing?"

"We're not even going to try to make any connections at court?" Quentin asked.

"Say what you want," Arland said, "Just leave Bea out of it."

He gave her a gentle look.

"You can do this," he said, "Just be strong, and you can go back to your books and libraries. One meeting and you will be free."

Bea nodded.

Perhaps, perhaps this would not be so bad after all.

One meeting, then she could go back to the University.

Back to the life she had planned for herself.

It was just one meeting, she thought.

She could do this.

One meeting, and then she would be done.

It was so simple.

She just needed to be strong.

Easy.


	5. Impressions

**Chapter 5: Impressions**

" **HIS MAJESTY! THE KING!"**

Trumpets sounded as Alistair entered the throne room. The various nobles, merchants, and people of merit come to see him, kneeled as he passed them by. The King was dressed in full court regalia, fine red robes and fur lined cloak, boots polished to a mirror shine, and the crown of Ferelden perched regally atop his head.

He made his way quickly to the dais and the throne that sat there. Both Eamon and Arl Teagan had told him that it was best that he looked… imperious as he made his way to hear the petitions of his court. That he appear, as high above them, as they saw themselves above the lowest commoners in the Kingdom.

He did his best to stifle a frown.

He supposed it worked, all the powerful seemed _awed_ as he passed, still…he did not see it himself.

 _Personally, he felt like a fool._

He was grateful when he finally reached the dais and sat down upon the throne. Grateful to have made it safely here, he still feared that he would trip on that stupid cloak one day, that he would go sprawling across the throne like some fool attempting to entertain the many lords and ladies who visited here.

Wouldn't that be something, he thought, the king making a complete and utter ass out of himself, no that he wasn't already mind you…

He still feared that all these powerful men could see out of his depth he was.

A shiver ran down his spine.

How he was doomed to fail.

He gestured for his subjects to rise, as Eamon had shown him, the Chancellor stood at the head of the procession today, ready to announce the various people of not come to appeal for his attention and help.

To his left stood Arl Teagan and Shianni, unlike the rest of his court they understood how nervous he felt at these things. It had been almost a year since he had took the throne and he still was not comfortable standing up here and speaking for the people of his beloved country.

Teagan nodded slightly, his unspoken encouragement going a long way to calm the young noble's troubled mind.

Shianni merely smirked at him. He could almost imagine what the elf was thinking:

 _Stop looking so damn uncomfortable, you are doing just_ _ **fine!**_

He gave her a wan smile, her elven ears twitched with amusement.

He hoped that she was right.

"Your Majesty," Chancellor Eamon began, "The court humbly awaits your wise decisions on this fine day. As Your Majesty succeeds, so will Ferelden."

"For Ferelden!" several of the nobles called out boisterously.

Alistair smiled and nodded.

He was hoping to make his way through the next ten minutes without making a complete and utter ass out of himself. It wasn't as bad as it had been when he had first taken the throne. Still, there were still matters that could still catch him off guard. Matters that would leave him stuttering, trying to come up with something good to say.

It was in those moments that the Chancellor or the Arl would take over. As his most trusted advisors, they were the ones who often saved him from the most dangerous of faux pas. He was grateful for that help, more than grateful in fact.

Eamon often said that he would get the hang of this eventually, that he would not need them to step in and save him. He tried to believe that of course, but history was not on his side.

Both his father and brother had relied too much on others for governance. Loghain MacTir had served as regent more times than not during his father's rule. Cailan had trusted Anora to most of the affairs of state, leaving him free to pursue whatever passion caught his eye.

The fact that he was trying to rule troubled more than a few of the members of court. They had gotten used to things being a certain way. Now they were starting to realize just how much had changed. Some accepted this new agenda…

But others…did not.

He glanced out across his court. Most of the faces here were familiar of course, but a few were not. He spotted the Orlesian ambassador, and his opposite number from the court of Nevarra. Both men had been unhappy that the representatives from their respective countries had not caught the King's eyes, during Eamon's recent gathering of the ladies.

The Orlesian glared at the Nevarran, his waxed and curled mustache moved as his nostril's flared in his rather large nose. The Nevarran, Alistair had not learned his name yet, something Pentaghast, tried his best to ignore his fellow representative.

Ambassador Petra from the Circle of Magi was also here this morning. The red haired mage had recently taken over for Wynne in speaking up for circle interests. As always two Templars stood behind her, just out of sight, but close enough should they be needed. There presents a nerved the young mage, but she still did her best to speak plainly on whatever matters Alistair put before her.

Young Mother Alisson stood close to Arl Teagan, looking fine in her crimson and white chantry robes, an unreadable look on her rather pretty face. Her rise to such a high station had intrigued the court. Unlike those who had previously held the position, Allison was not shy about speaking her mind when it came to chantry interests. She was fiery, quick to anger and always words of fire and brimstone for the unfaithful. It was a surprise for those who were used to the stern silence and stable concern of the more controlled Chantry priests who had served at court in the years before her. The Mother might not have risen so high if not for her supposedly noble birth, and the tides of fate that had come to affect the Denerim Chantry. Recently the Grand Cleric's health had begun to fail her, more and more, the old woman had retreated into seclusion, leaving her advisors to pick up the slack. The chantry had been turning more and more to the recently anointed Mother to speak on their behalf. She was seen as ambitious, and a bit of a firebrand. Few doubted that she would quickly ascend to the rank of Grand Cleric one day, if that was indeed her desire; she had a sharp mind and a quick tongue, not to mention the support of several noble families. The fact that she was attractive did not hurt matters either. A single lock of blonde hair poked out from the top of the priests cap, she made no attempt to fix it.

She nodded respectfully to the king as she noticed his regard.

Alistair leaned back in the throne. Eamon had outlined much of their agenda today. Most of it was housekeeping stuff, aid this Bann here, offer formal support for this merchant there, the day to day affairs of state when it came to running a kingdom.

Of course, that was not the only thing on the agenda. The young woman that he had encountered a month ago was here today, her and her family both.

Alistair shifted uncomfortably.

He knew what he needed to do, but at the same time felt a small amount of trepidation about it. He and Eamon had had a long discussion on how best to frame the public apology that he intended to make this day. He needed to appear repentant without appearing weak. The girl being from a lesser noble house made that easier of course, and the affect would likely work more in his favor.

A king willing to offer praise to his lessers, with the hope that they could be friends, such and act would appeal greatly to the new money men and women of Ferelden, humanizing their already legendary ruler. The high noble's not wishing to risk the king's disapproval also seemed to support this move. The fact that this girl was apparently Ferelden born salved any bad taste they might have had for the affair.

Had the girl been from one of their neighbors they might have disagreed, not wishing to see their king humble himself before some daughter of a foreign land.

Alistair smiled. The subtle side of politics often annoyed him. He had mentioned that to his friend Leliana once.

The bard had merely smiled.

It was a dance that is what she had called it. The steps can be learned, she had promised, one day he would be able to navigate that world as easily as he did the battlefield.

He found himself hoping she was right.

If this was a dance, he often felt that he had two left feet.

The first of the supplicants stepped forward. Eamon announced his name.

Alistair smiled.

Let the dance begin.

IOI

Court business progressed as it had on other occasions.

Bann Esmerelle once again repeated her protest to naming the Orlesian born Warden Commander of Ferelden the new Arlessa of Amaranthine. Shianni of course stepped in again to divert the woman's blustering, bringing up yet again the plight of Amaranthine's elven population.

The representative from Highever came with a request to send a delegation across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall, with so many Ferelden refugees now living in the City of Chains; it seemed to Teyrn Cousland that their welfare be seen to.

Alistair agreed with him on that, the people displaced by the Blight should be a matter of concern. Many talented people had fled the Blight. If they could be convinced to return home, so much the better for the kingdom.

Ambassador Petra made her report dealing with the Blighted lands that now made up much of the Southern Bannorn. The scar left by the darkspawn horde remained extremely resistant to magic, at least any magic the chantry might approve of. She did report that the Dalish elves that had settled near the ruins of Ostagar had made some advances in that area, and that several of their firsts were willing to share that information with those that had offered them this new place to call home.

Mother Alisson of course spoke up against any dealing with the elves, citing several scriptures from the chant of light. The woman said that Ferelden had no need to accept the aid of heretics.

Alistair said nothing, choosing to hold his tongue. If not for those heretics all of Denerim might have been lost to the darkspawn horde.

He made note of the fact that he would need to speak with the priestess later, remind her about recent events.

He was ready to summon the Glass family when one final supplicant stepped forward. Many of the nobles paled at the sight of the man, even though Alistair had no idea who he might be.

To say that the court's reaction to this stranger was intriguing was an understatement indeed.

The man was of average height with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His skin was pale, but long healed scars suggested that the man had lived a life not as easy as most of the others courtiers here. His clothing was well made, but threadbare at the edges, clean, but clearly they had seen much use.

The only thing unusual that Alistair noticed was the fine silk scarf that covered the man's neck, the chamber was far from cold so such a thing seemed a bit out of place, but not so much out of place then the royal court's reaction, or the man's eyes.

The dark eyes that regarded the king were both cold and careful. The man was smiling of course, but it was a smile that did not touch his eyes. He nodded slightly to the chancellor…

Eamon gave him a look of extreme distaste. This only seemed to amuse the man more.

Alistair gave his adopted father a look.

"Chancellor?" he said softly.

Eamon coughed, realizing his role as herald today.

He made the official announcement.

"Mister Wilbur Rich, Your Majesty," he said.

The man's smile widened as he bowed grandly.

"Your Majesty," he said in a very raspy voice, a voice that might suggest some kind of illness.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last."

"We welcome you to our court, Ser Wilbur," he said, "I trust you are well?"

The man bowed his head respectfully.

"Alas, it is simply Mister, Your Majesty, or Will to my friends."

Eamon snorted at the comment.

Clearly he felt that the man having any friends with laughable.

Mister Rich ignored him.

"As for my health," the man said, "It is as well as can be expected."

The man removed his scarf, and raised his head. The sight beneath it made several members of the court wince.

A dark red scar encircled the man's neck, the remnant no doubt of a barely healed rope burn.

The king frowned.

It was not hard to imagine how the man had received such a mark.

Chancellor Eamon continued to glare at the man.

"We heard that you were dead, Mister Rich."

"Nearly, Your Grace, nearly," he admitted, "The men the late unlamented Rendon Howe sent to kill me were drunk at the time of the attempt."

Rich smiled fiercely.

"Lucky for me," he added smiling predatorily, "very unlucky for them."

"I imagine so," Eamon said, clearly not pleased by the man's survival.

Alistair intervened before the confrontation between them turned into another shouting match.

"What brings you to court, Mister Rich?" he asked.

The man returned his attention to the king.

"I merely seek to aid His Majesty," he said, "I am…of course a man of many talents, information gathering chief among them."

His expression turned serious.

"There is a…matter that I must discuss with His Majesty, later, if you will allow it?"

The King glanced at his Chancellor, Eamon looked more inclined to see the man in the dungeon that at court, still…

"What say you, Chancellor?" he asked Eamon, "Is this man trust worthy?"

The former Arl of Redcliffe continued to glare daggers at the man, but as he was expected to do, he answered his lord's question honestly.

"This man has proven to be no enemy of Ferelden," he answered, "But his past company is little to be desired."

Again Rich smiled.

"I served for a time as an advisor to Teyrn Loghain MacTir," he confessed, "I aided him during the time of your brother's rule. Our…business ended when he sent Rendon Howe to kill me."

"I'm sure you can see why I would seek to continue my duties now that they are both gone."

Again Alistair nodded. He understood now why the Chancellor was so…hostile to the man, but if his scars were any indication, the man clearly had no love for the late Teyrn or his allies.

The King licked his lips.

It might be wise to hear what the man had to say. If he still had contacts with those that still supported the Teyrn…?

The war might have ended, but that had not stopped everyone who had supported Loghain's agenda.

"I will speak with you," the king promised, "For now…accept the hospitality of our court."

Again the man bowed.

""Your Majesty is generous; I do hope that you find what I have to offer…intriguing."

He slipped back into the crowd, many of the nobles moved out of his way quickly, looks of contempt or fear on their faces.

Eamon frowned at the king, the same kind of look he had given him as a boy.

Alistair tried not to totally quail under that look.

He was not just some stable boy anymore.

There were few people that he could say truly…caught Eamon Guerin's ire. The fact that this man had was…intriguing.

Whoever this man was, Alistair thought; it would be interesting to hear what he had to say. Of course, that was for another day.

For now, he still had a matter to attend to.

" **Ser Nathaniel Glass and family!"**

Eamon's announcement caused many heads to turn; no doubt word had gotten out about what had happened a few weeks ago, about the king's…encounter with Ser Glass's youngest daughter.

Many were no doubt curious what was going to happen next.

Once Shianni had identified who the girl had been, it had not been difficult to learn what he needed to know about Ser Nathaniel Glass and his four children. The man's association with Orlais had won him few friends on the court, yet still people were grateful for the goods he brought.

The man's children were as different as night and day.

The eldest, Arland had spent almost ten years as a soldier, serving in the royal army with distinction, even fighting during the Siege of Denerim.

Quentin Glass was seen as something of a fop, any lady admirers, but no serious marriage proposals yet, or so Eamon's sources had claimed. There was also talk of him getting into trouble over gambling debts, but that was mostly gossip.

Margaret Glass was something of social climber. She had attended the recent gathering of ladies, but had not stayed long enough for him to get to speak with her. It was said that her father was trying to find a suitable…upward marriage for his eldest daughter, but so far, none of the Fereldan nobility had taken his offer.

Once again his connection with Orlais likely hurt those chances.

Which of course led to the youngest daughter, Bridget Glass…

…The girl he had met outside the stables.

The doors to the throne room swung home. Ser Nathaniel stepped in flanked by his sons. The two girls trailed just behind them, shielded like archers being protected by a knightly wedge.

Neither Ser Nathaniel or his second son looked the part, they were both thin, and dark haired, though the father's was liberally tinged with gray. They did not carry themselves as someone trained for combat; Alistair had been around enough people who had to recognize the difference. These two were clearly not used to the armor or warfare, but then again, the kingdom needed money men as well as sharp blades.

The elder Glass was said to be quite charming, a respected man at the Orlesian court, clever, yet cunning.

Eamon, of course, had advised caution.

Arland Glass was different; he wore the uniform of a Ferelden and soldier, and still bore the scars to prove it. The eyepatch he wore did little to hide the slight scarring that was still visible around it.

Clearly the young man had done more than sit in camp behind the front lines.

Margaret Glass was absolutely beaming as she made her way towards the throne. She wore fine jewels, and an extremely low cut maroon colored gown, Orlesian likely in origin.

She smiled brightly, nodding to whatever young man caught her attention, no doubt several young women involved with those men gave their significant others warning pokes in the ribs.

Look darling, but don't even think of touching.

It was then that his eyes fell on the youngest girl.

Alistair managed a weak smile.

She did look quite pretty, especially when she was not covered in mud.

Bridget Glass was slightly taller than her sister, with pale skin and a long slender neck. She wore a gown similar to her sister's in cut, but was colored dark blue. Even from a distance he could notice a dusting of freckles on shoulders, unlike her sister, the younger Glass seemed to be a girl who spent a great deal of time outdoors.

Her raven hair was pulled up into a tight bun; she wore no jewelry except for a small pearl necklace with a small mirror pendant at its center.

Alistair smiled.

 _A looking glass for a girl of House Glass._

She seemed troubled, unwilling to meet his gaze. He found himself hoping that she still did not hold a grudge that would make things incredibly awkward as he offered her his apology.

The Glass family came to a stop before the throne, the males all bowed, while the two girls curtseyed, though their youngest seemed a bit unsteady in it.

"Ser Nathaniel," Alistair began, "I bid you welcome to court."

The older man smiled.

"Your Majesty," he said gallantly, "I'm grateful for this opportunity, a chance to…"

There was a loud thump behind him.

The ladies of the court gasped, and several of the men rushed forward.

Alistair froze not really sure what to do.

Both Quentin and Arland Glass broke away from their father, both kneeling down, while Lady Margaret tried to distance herself from the chaos.

Alistair winced.

The Lady Bridget had collapsed; several courtiers were now attending to her.

Clearly the girl had fainted, quite possibly from fright.

Several of the nobles gave the King harsh stares, perhaps blaming him for scaring the poor girl. Alistair wanted to protest, but any such words died unsaid on his tongue.

What could he say?

What could he do?

The Chancellor advised him to stay back, let the guards handle this.

Alistair sighed.

So much for the grand gesture of the king, he thought glumly.

Maker, he though, what have I done to make you hate me?

It was a good question.

Hopefully, one day…

He would find the answer.


	6. Bea Yourself

**Chapter 6: Bea Yourself**

Bea made her way down the royal gardens; it was all she could do to keep from stopping to inspect the plants here, the darkspawn had been thick here during the Blight, what changes might have happened to these plants? She tried not to think about that. Her scientific curiosity was at war with her sense of self preservation. She was doing her best to both muster her courage, and think of how best to begin her conversation with the king. The first hints of dusk began to turn the sky in the west golden, making the gray stone appear almost white in the setting sun. Two guards led the way with her brother Arland bringing up the rear. After the… _debacle_ in the throne room earlier today, the king had requested that he speak to her personally, away from the prying eyes of the court who even now were likely gossiping like a company of fish wives.

Bea sighed.

She felt like a complete and utter idiot. She could only imagine what was being said about her right now. Most were likely laughing, and those that weren't were lamenting her fortune, the poor little thing.

She suppressed the urge to frown; she was not the type of girl who accepted pity. She liked to see herself as strong opinionated woman, not some whimpering pup that hid behind a wall of stone and men in iron suits. Yet it was likely that no one on the court now saw her that way, all they saw was the poor innocent girl who had fainted before her king, terrified over and incident that had not truly been her fault in the first place.

It had not been her fault, but still…

She shook her head.

She was going to have words with her sister when they got home.

IOI

"Are you sure you are all right?"

Bea gave her brother a weak smile. She was laying on a small couch in one of the palace guest rooms, the servants had brought her here after she had collapsed. Arland had followed; so that he could watch over her while Papa, Quentin, and Margaret did what they could to keep matters from turning even worse than they had been previously.

How things could get any worse, she could not say, but it was clear that Father feared that that might just happen.

Bea had been in no shape to aid them, or so she had been told. She had simply lain there, wheezing, gasping for breath.

The servants, elves everyone, tended to her needs. Papa had sent word to summon a healer, but that turned out, unnecessary. In fact one of the maids deduced the problem before anyone official could even come to her side.

What happened next would have been amusing if it had happened to someone else.

"I've seen this before, messere," the girl said to Arland with a smile and an amused twitch of her elven ears, "Twice actually during the chancellor's most recent affair."

"Can you help her?" he had asked.

"Oh yes, ser," the girl replied, "May I borrow your dagger, please?"

Arland had allowed it, though he had likely been concerned giving a random servant a blade and letting her use it so close to his youngest sister.

The girl undid the buttons of Bea's new dress; Arland turned away respectfully when the girl took the dagger and gently cut away the ties holding her corset in place.

Bea had gasped loudly, as air finally flooded back into her lungs, she awoke almost instantly, both to the pleasure of her brother, and the amusement of the maids.

She had gave him a sheepish smile, even as the maids left, to fetch her a new gown from her wardrobe, and to give her and her brother time to speak privately.

She was grateful in that moment that Arland wasn't Quentin. She loved her other brother, but he found too much pleasure in her misfortunes, had done so ever since they were children.

Arland, praise the Maker, was not like that.

She gave him a wan smile as he offered her a glass of water; she drank it slowly, only answering once it was all gone.

"I'm fine Arland. Better now that I can actually breathe again."

Bea quirked her lip with amusement, now that it had happened she needed to laugh or she would get angry at people she could not afford to be angry at right now.

"I swear though," She added, "If I ever meet the sadistic bastard that invented the corset, I will put him to death, slowly, and extremely painfully."

Her elder brother chuckled.

That alone was enough to lift Bridget Glass' spirits.

Arland's smiled were far too far between.

He had always been the strong one, the sturdy one.

"Are you certain you are all right?" he repeated.

Again she nodded, but paused to glance around the room.

"Where is father?"

Her brother snorted.

"Wading into the waters with the wealthy and powerful. Your little…incident has opened many doors here. Now he seeks to find which ones will serve our family best to walk through."

Arland shrugged.

"Just another day in the life of Ser Nathaniel Glass."

Bea felt a retort coming, but it died quickly on her lips. Father had always been a political animal, and he had done his best to teach his children to be as well, a necessary skill when one spent so much time moving in the same circles as the Orlesian royal court. The grand game did not end simply because a person stepped outside the boundaries of Val Royeaux; its effects were felt even here…

This caused Bridget Glass to have a very, very, inconvenient thought.

It had been kind of Father to buy both her and Margaret new dresses for this affair, or so she had thought at the time. Typically Father was a bit tight fisted when it came to money, growing up with his sister and her knight husband had taught him that. His desire to splurge so soon after their last trip to Denerim was odd but not impossible. He, of course, wished to make the best impression before the king. Margaret had helped pick them out, even though Bea was not sure that wearing such a thing to the court was the best idea. In Bea's eyes, her was a little too revealing, not the best thing to wear when meeting the sovereign of their beloved nation. Father had supported Margaret of course, so the two of them had gotten matching dresses, even though it was a bit…much for Bea's tastes. Margaret assured her it was the latest fashion, that it would help them make the biggest splash possible on their first trip to the royal court. She had even volunteered to help her younger sister tie herself up so that the gown would look just perfect on her.

That…had not worked out so well.

She had complained that she thought it was too tight, but Margaret assured her that it was perfect, simply the way the dress fit. Personally, it just left her breathless as they made their towards the throne room. Between the afternoon heat, and the tightness of the corset, she had been having a lot of trouble trying to fill her lungs. By the time they had been called forth to meet the king, she had been seeing black spots, after that…nothing. Her last thought not surprising, considering the circumstances.

Can't…breathe…

Then…clunk.

She looked away from Arland, retreating back to the events leading up to…well…this.

She was not happy.

Arland must have noticed the look in her eye. His expression grew more concerned.

"Is something wrong sister?"

Her frown deepened, but she did not say anything, not here, not now.

Family **was** family; you supported them, even if they made stupid decisions.

Father had been very quick to try to spin this…incident into something positive. Quentin and Em had not missed a beat either. She was not the type of person to point fingers, but if she was…

She had a few people she would likely be pointing at right now.

Father liked playing the game by Orlesian rules, he understood them. In Val Royeaux, one person's embarrassment was another's opportunity. The Glass family's position here was not strong. If the king had decided to blame her for that incident in the stables it could have hurt their position, but thanks to her little fainting spell, the king now looked terrifying that poor little Bridget Glass had fainted out of fear of his fierce warrior's judgment.

Her fainting had turned the tables back in the favor of House Glass. Now…they looked the victims and the king a bully. It was an opening, and Papa had taken it. It was a dangerous move, risking the ire of the king, but expected of one used to the rise and fall of Orlesian politics.

Bea frowned.

Any shame she felt was minor by comparison of the gains now open to their family. The king's rivals would no doubt come courting her father's favor, to use her as a symbol in whatever schemes they were hatching. The king's allies would likely seek him out for the same reason. Seeking to minimize any damage that had done here, before the stories of this event spiraled out of control. A person could count on one thing when it came to the gossip of the noble class…

Nobles were quite fond of making mountains out of ant hills.

She shook her head.

She detested the game, but understood the value of playing it well. Many of her fellow students at the University had come from wealthy families.

Had she not learned steps, she would have been buried by her peers long ago, she did not like it, but that was simply the way it was.

"Sister?"

Bea hid her anger behind a mask of indifference, she would speak to Quentin later, if this had been some gambit by Father or simply some form of petty revenge by Margaret, she would find out. Quentin liked to brag about their family successes, even if it was only to her and Em.

If this was planned, she would have words with Father in private.

She did not like being used.

She did not like it at all.

"Sister?"

But that was for another day.

She smiled wanly.

"It is nothing, brother," she lied, "Nothing important."

He gave her a knowing look.

"You had that deep in thought look," he said, "I was wondering if you figured out something important."

Bea said nothing.

She loved Arland, but she loved Papa as well…

She…she had no intention of causing anymore friction between the two men.

Arland wanted to respect his father; he loved him sure, but…

Arland was a soldier. Politics was simply a battlefield that he did not understand.

One day she would tell Arland about this, if she was right, but for now…now…

…it was best that it remained private.

A knock at the door interrupted them, Arland answered it. It was an elven page with a message for her.

Arland remained at her side while she read it out loud. Bea swallowed hard.

The king wished to meet with her, privately.

She tried to push all thought of what had happened today being one her father's gambits out of her head.

It would not be good to let something slip in front of the king.

Arland put a hand on her shoulder.

"Just be yourself," he advised, "You just have to get through this, and then you can go back to the University with a clear conscience."

She nodded.

Back to the University, yes that was what she wanted. She loved her homeland, but…

The University and its well spring of knowledge beckoned; there was so much to see, so much to do…

All she had to do was just speak with the king.

No problem.

She gave her brother a worried look.

"Will you come with me?"

"Of course," he promised, "I would not want my little sister to go completely unchaperoned into the king's presence."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"Why? What could happen?"

Arland gave her a knowing look.

"Let's just say, if this king is anything like his brother…well…don't worry."

He patted her on the shoulder again.

"Don't worry," he repeated.

""I'll be there for you."

IOI

The guards led Bea to a small fountain at the center of the gardens. It was a huge thing, huge and beautiful with a pair of live swans swimming in its waters.

She swallowed hard again.

The king had his back to them, staring into the waters. He had changed out of his court clothes, the plain white shirt, crimson vest and matching breeches made him seem more…approachable then he had been during their brief time in court.

Arland came up behind her.

"You can do this," he whispered.

"I'm right here."

She nodded.

She could do this.

All she had to do was talk to him, just one short conversation.

Easy.

Simple.

She made her way towards the fountain, grateful she had changed into something a little more conservative, she would have felt foolish coming before the king in a fancy gown when he was so…under dressed.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards at her side called out.

The King turned.

"The Lady Bridget Glass."

Bea curtseyed.

She could do this.

"Your Majesty," she cooed, diverting her eyes respectfully.

The king did not respond.

A brief twinge of fear ran down her spine.

She pushed it back.

It was okay.

She could do this.


	7. A Walk in the Gardens

**Chapter 7: A Walk in the Gardens**

"Your Majesty, the Lady Bridget Glass!"

Alistair swallowed hard. He had been happy to hear that the girl had recovered, after the…incident in the throne room; he had hoped that it was nothing serious. When one of the servants attending her informed him that she was feeling better he sent for her, requested that she be brought here.

After all, he still had an apology to make, more than one now…probably.

His hands were sweating, he felt nervous, surprisingly enough. He had faced down darkspawn, werewolves, and even an Archdemon with little but grim resolve, but this…this…

Again he swallowed hard as she approached.

Doing this was another matter entirely.

The girl approached him, the gown she wore now far more…sensible then the one she had worn in court, not that he blamed her. He had also changed out of his court clothes, preferring to meet with her as simply him, rather than the King of Ferelden. The black and gray gown fit well with her dark hair, still pinned up in an intense bun. She kept her eyes low as she approached him, her head lowered in reverence.

She dipped into a low curtsey.

"Your Majesty," she said softly.

Alistair paused. He was trying to think of what he should say first.

Part of him was afraid; their previous encounters had not ended well. Part of him waited for some new disaster, he would say the wrong thing, she would faint again, or that an Archdemon would explode up through the gardens starting another Blight...

…That kind of thing.

He knew such thoughts were foolish, but still, after everything else…

What to do?

Where to begin?

 _You should not just blurt out the apology like an idiot,_ his conscience warned. _Small talk first perhaps_

 _You could also invite her to walk with you. Spend some time in the gardens, show her that you are not some stuck up noble or drooling lecher._

This was the third time they had met face to face, and both previous times had ended in disaster. He had no desire to see that repeated, not again.

He needed to be smart about this, enlightened.

He was after all…the king.

The girl remained kneeling waiting for his respond.

He was…

He should…

Um…

What was he going to do now?

"Um…Your Majesty," she said lightly so no one else could hear her.

That brought him back here to the now.

"Uh, Um…Yes Milady."

She lowered her head more.

"May I…um…rise now."

Alistair swore at himself in his head. His cheeks darkened with a blush.

Stupid! Stupid! STUPID!

"Uh, yes," he said quickly, "Please rise, Milady."

She did as he commanded, yet he still felt like a total idiot.

Off on the wrong foot, he thought.

Again.

IOI

Bea kept her head down. Hoping against hope that she had not insulted her sovereign, in Orlais, such a thing could be considered a great trespass, a lord or duke could have someone severely punished, but she could not help it, her legs were getting tired.

Better to ask to rise and beg forgiveness then fall when her legs finally gave way.

She rose and faced her king, he refused to meet her eyes and if she was not mistaken, blushing quite fiercely.

That made her frown; she had not meant any offense.

He turned to face her once again; she lowered her eyes respectfully once more.

She awaited the tirade; his rebuke for her insolence, that it was most rulers would do in such a situation. That would be how they would take back control of the situation…

The King of Ferelden did not do that. Instead, he surprised her.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She looked up, for the first time she got to see the King, or rather the man who was now the king. The first time she was too angry after their fall in the muck. The second, she had been simply trying to get air into her lungs.

Now, for the first time, she could see just who it was she was facing.

He was still quite young, she realized, something one might miss when he was in his full court robes, maybe twenty or twenty one, only a year or two older than she. His dark blonde hair was cut short and quite spikey, what one would expect from a professional soldier, not surprising from some of the tales she had heard. Then there was his eyes, they…they were not the eyes of a high noble. They radiated a sense of humbleness that she was not used to, more akin to a Mabari pup then the lord and master of a nation.

He looked at her sheepishly. He was not angry; he looked more embarrassed by his behavior than he should have been given the situation.

She found herself feeling sorry for putting him on the spot like that, him and his puppy dog eyes.

She tried to start again.

"Your Majesty has nothing to be sorry for," she said soothingly, "I…um…I was being insolent."

"Or honest," he said with a nervous laugh, "I remember that tone well from the abbey, I used it often enough, believe me."

The nervousness of his words put her at ease; it seemed she was not the only one treading in unfamiliar waters.

A hint of a smile came to her lips.

Perhaps they could avoid another stupid incident, and keep themselves both afloat.

"I feel proper introduction are in order," she began, "I am Bridget Glass, people close to me call me Bea."

He sighed slightly, perhaps grateful that she had led him back to more familiar territory.

He almost smiled.

"I'm Alistair," he said, "though you probably already know that."

"I suppose I do," she said warmly.

She did a quick curtsey.

"Your Majesty," she murmured.

He gave her a slight bow.

"Milady," he replied.

And that was how they truly began.

IOI

The two of them spent the next hour walking in the gardens, Alistair's bodyguards in front and her brother Arland behind. There were other guards of course, watching the young soldier, but they kept their distance, giving the king and the young lady a chance to speak.

They spoke of many things in that hour, trying to work their way through all the awkwardness of their first meeting.

Alistair had been surprised to discover that she was a scholar. He had sounded a little incredulous when she first told him, and he feared he had offended her again.

He had needed to talk quickly.

"I would remind; His Majesty," she began, "that Empress Celene herself is quite knowledgeable. She studies mathematics in her spare time."

"I meant no offense of course," he answered, "Most of the scholars I have met personally have been funny little men who walk into dangerous situations in the name of their craft. An attractive young woman such as yourself does not seem the type."

Bea blushed slightly. She did not acknowledge the fact that the king called her "attractive."

She had not wanted to put him on the spot about it, so she pushed on ahead with their previous conversation.

"I have travelled a bit," she admitted, "I've been to the edge of the western approach, so intriguing that place. You have to be careful though, darkspawn still prey on travelers after dark there."

The mention of darkspawn brought rigidness to his bearing.

"They are not an enemy to be taken lightly, Milady," he warned, "Trust me; I faced enough of them during the Blight."

She nodded.

"I'm sure you have seen much, Your Majesty, not only of the Blight, but the damage the darkspawn did to our lands first hand."

"He gave her an arched look."

"You seem curious about that?"

She gave him a shy smile.

"My studies focus primarily on plant life," she informed him, "As a botanist I have discovered that many of the plants here in Ferelden have undergone a subtle change since the coming of the Blight. The taint did not destroy them, but it changed them, made them more…more…aggressive in their existence."

The King's brow furrowed.

"Aggressive plants," he sounded confused.

She smiled slightly again.

"Plants are not just the back ground of the world, Your Majesty. They have a life all their own. They push towards the sun, fighting to feed themselves. Some release chemicals into the soil, poisoning any plant that is trying to usurp their spot. Some create toxins to defend themselves from predators, while others produce berries that entice animals to eat of them and carry their seeds to other places."

Her brow furrowed in thought.

"The plants here have changed to entirely new level. Those that the taint has not killed have grown…stronger, though perhaps not for the best of the environment. Some may become dangerous in time."

She sighed.

"If only the grey wardens were freer with their records, surely they have ancient treatises on the effects of the Blight, but they guard their secrets so harshly that…"

She paused when she saw his amused smile.

She blushed darkly.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I…um…had heard that you were a warden. I…I meant no disrespect."

Again he chuckled.

"You say what you are thinking, I can't fault you for that, and too many in the palace choose not to speak their minds, even if I need to hear what they have to say."

She shrugged.

"The corridors of power are like that Your Majesty," she added, "Or so I've been told."

Alistair nodded.

They continued their walk.

Their dance continued.

IOI

It was almost dark by the time they returned to the palace. Alistair invited Bea and her family to spend the night here in the palace, it was the least he could do after all the trouble from early in the day.

The young lady curtseyed when they parted. Her elder brother gave him a polite bow, he was still watchful of his younger sister of course, but Alistair had done nothing to raise his ire.

He still remembered some of his chantry training after all; he knew how to be respectful to a beautiful girl.

The thought made him smile as he made his way up to his chambers for the night.

The Lady Glass, Bridget, or Bea as she insisted that he call her was quite intriguing. Well spoken, unafraid to speak her mind when it was in her best interest, and curious as a cat about a subject that interested her.

It was also clear from their talk that she was not foolish when it came to matters of politics; her Father's doing no doubt.

Eamon of course had advised caution in dealing with Ser Nathaniel Glass, the man was said to be both clever and cunning.

Still Alistair found himself thinking more about the man's youngest daughter, and what a wonder she was.

 _Pretty and wise too, he thought._

… _An interesting combination to be sure._

Her interest in the Blight worried him a bit though; the taint was nothing to be messing around with. He had seen firsthand the damage that the darkspawn could do, and as for the transformative abilities of the Blight, well…

He frowned.

He knew about that as well, intimately well…

He pursed his lips.

It was after all, in his blood.

Still, after everything else, he felt better. Bea and her brother would no doubt report to her father on how well things had gone, and Ser Nathaniel would no doubt take what they had heard back to the other nobles. Perhaps it was not as good as a formal apology before court, but…

It was something that had at least put his mind at ease.

Bea was not angry, he was happy about that. She would no doubt return to her books and her University back in Val Royeaux. He intended to stay in touch with her father, make sure she was doing alright; he had precious few friends here in the palace, friends that did not seek to be his friends simply to advance themselves.

Bea, he had decided, though perhaps not a friend was at least a warm acquaintance.

He smiled slightly.

He would do what he could to keep that acquaintance alive.

After all, he thought.

It might be good to see her again.


	8. A Rich Man

**Chapter 8: A Rich Man**

"This way, Messere."

A hint of a smile played over Wilbur Rich's features. It never ceased to amaze him how…polite people could be when they thought he was a member of the nobility. He had worn his finest clothes for this meeting, the fact that they were now his only clothes was quite telling. Once he had been one of the richest men in Gwaren. He had been the voice in the ear of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, now he had almost nothing, a sovereign, three silvers, and twelve coppers to his name. Had the sisters known that he might not have received such a respectful welcome.

The lure of possible coin always made people friendlier, whether they realized it or not.

He did not blame them, or the sisters for that matter. It was simply the way it was.

It was simply the way the world worked.

He followed after the young lay sister. The odor in the place might have offended someone with noble sensibilities; fortunately, Rich had been born among the commons. He had walked into far worse places then this, and for far lesser rewards. The chantry ward of Denerim was quite busy, it was always busy. A city the size of the capital always had people in need. This place was the last sanctuary for the unwanted, the sick and the weary, the beggars and the fools.

Rich was not here for any of them of course, oh no.

Today, he was hunting more…interesting prey.

He ignored the smell as he made his way deeper into the ward. He made his way past the many beds, all separated by curtains. Within each, loved ones tended to the comfort of their kin, provided the ones in the beds had loved ones. For those that did not, the sisters did their best.

He found himself thinking about the man he had come to see. The mere thought drained any joy out of this endeavor.

His quarry did not deserve any comfort, still…for their meeting to happen here…

He could not help feeling a little…cheated.

"Has he said anything?" he asked the sister.

She gave him a sad look.

"I'm afraid he has not spoken for many days, messere. He grows weaker by the day. I fear it is only a matter of time now."

The initiate shook her head.

"He will walk with the Maker soon enough."

She gave Rich a sad look.

"You have my sympathies.

He nodded, accepting her condolences, but again he could not escape the feeling that he had been cheated.

He pursed his lips.

It was very inconsiderate that the man started dying this way. It had cheapened Will's victory. He did not like that…

He did not like that at all.

She led him to a small bed at the back of the ward. A lone man lay there, his breath wheezing as his frail chest rose and fell weakly. Arms far more slender then they had once been sat atop the blankets.

Rich's frown increased fivefold.

Part of him still could not believe it.

It was him. It was truly him.

Emotions flickered across Will's face, a kaleidoscope of wild feelings. Rage, sadness, contempt, pity, all rushed through him in a flood, but in the end, only one emotion truly held sway.

Disappointment.

It was familiar to him.

He had been on the receiving end of the man's disappointment too many times to count. He had felt…broken at the man's merest look...

…To see him like this now…

…it…it was strange.

He let out a shuddering breath.

 _It was not fair._

 _It simply was not fair!_

The sister kept her distance, waiting to offer him comfort if he needed it.

Once again, he was flattered by her concern, but otherwise unaffected.

He was not the type of man who needed comfort, he had seen too much in his life to not see it for the useless balm it was.

The world was a hard place.

He had learned to be harder.

"Can he hear me?" he asked.

"Hard to say," the sister answered, "Before he lost the gift of speech, he said that a gentleman would be coming for him."

Rich gave her an arched look.

The man had called him a gentleman?

That was…surprising.

The sister held out her hand. A small gold ring rested in her palm, the royal seal of Theirin family shone in gold on its face, floating on a bed of pearl.

Rich licked his lips.

He recognized the ring of course, how could he not?

The man had worn it every day of his life.

He took the ring.

The sister continued speaking.

"He said I was to give this to the man who came looking for him, that and a message."

Will arched and eyebrow.

"What sort of message?"

She lowered her head.

"He told me to tell the gentleman, whoever he was…that…that 'he was sorry.'"

She looked up.

"Does that mean anything to you, messere?"

Rich almost laughed.

He was sorry?

 **He was sorry?**

It was a nice sentiment, but too late…

…Twenty years too late.

He pocketed the ring, and turned back to the sister, a sad smile on his face.

It was a smile that never even came close to touching his eyes.

"You have my thanks sister," he said, "But now I would like some time alone with this poor soul. I…I would like to say my goodbyes. I…I hope you can understand?"

"Of course, my son, of course," she said with a slight bow, "Maker watch over you, in these sad times."

Rich nodded, but said nothing more. He had no more words for the sister.

What he had to say now was for the man in the bed, and no other.

These were words a long time coming.

He turned back to the bed again, but did not choose to speak again until the sister was completely out of earshot.

What he had to say now was for no one's ears but the man in the bed, provided he could even hear them after all this time.

Will kneeled down beside the man's shoulder. He still wore that cold little smile, the one that did not touch his eyes.

He shook his head again.

This was truly not fair. It was not fair at all.

He sighed and gathered his courage.

Too much had passed between them.

He could not let those things go unmarked, not if this was the last time they would speak.

If he was to move forward, he needed some kind of closure…

…Even if it was unsatisfying.

He took the old man's hand, and sighed.

"This…this is not how I pictured this," he began, "It…it is far more awkward than anything I could have imagined…"

Rich shook his head.

"I almost did not come myself. In fact I gave serious thought to simply hiring an assassin to handle this affair, to finish sending you on to your just deserts."

He gave the old man's hand a squeeze.

"Perhaps it is a better that I did not. It would have been a waste of coin, and an insult to the noble who provided me what was needed."

He sighed again.

"I…I want to be honest with you. When you cast me out…I…I hated you for the longest time. Dreamed what would happen when we met again. How I would make you beg for the cruelty you showed me all those years, but now …now that we are here…"

Rich pursed his lips.

"I find myself, not so angry anymore. I still resent what you did, but…my desire to kill you no longer holds sway over my heart."

He leaned in close, just in case the old man could hear him, perhaps he even wanted him to hear him.

Stranger things had happened after all.

"I know I was a disappointment. I never was the warrior…the knight you wanted. Your…your standards were impossible for me to meet. I would never measure up in your eyes. I would never be as great as your father had been."

Rich shook his head.

"But I'm not without talents. I'm smart, and I know many things. Secrets were always my weapon, and far sharper than any sword."

Will smiled slightly.

"I thought Loghain was the man we needed. He was strong enough, but in the end he turned his back on the very people he sought to defend. That asp Rendon Howe nearly had me killed, and Loghain rewarded him by giving him all my businesses, destroying almost fifteen years of hard work."

Rich lowered his scarf, revealing the scars on his neck, the old man did not wake to see them, but part of Rich hoped that he would know…

That he would see what Rich had suffered, and know that it had not beaten him.

He raised the scarf again. Rendon Howe did not matter now. Loghain Mac Tir did not matter. They were both dead.

Wilbur Rich was still alive.

He doubted that the man in the bed would have rejoiced in that news, but…

The fact that he was still here was proof that the Maker was not done with him, yet. He was alive, and as long as he was alive there was still hope that he may yet finish what he started, what the man in the bed's father had started.

Rich wanted him to know that.

He needed him to know that.

"There is a conspiracy against the king," Rich whispered, "Someone or someones want him dead, or at the very least off the throne. I will not allow that to happen. I can't allow that to happen."

He gave the old man's hand a squeeze.

"You gave up," he said flatly, "You lost faith in what we were trying to do. You wasted all your father's gifts, and now you have drank yourself to death.

He shook his head again.

"That is irony at worst, poetic justice at best."

Will sighed.

"I have not lost faith in what you taught me. I can help our king weather this storm. I would put myself at his disposal. My secrets will be his, and together we can accomplish great things. Together, we can make Ferelden great again, strong again.

Will held up the old man's hand, he was shocked by how light it was. Shocked and a bit saddened.

He hated to see the man like this. He had deserved a better end than this.

He should have died by Rich's hands, that or one of his agents.

That would have been okay.

That would have been justice.

Rich pulled the slender arm to his face; he lightly kissed the knuckle of the old man's hand.

Respect was still owed, even if he did hate the cold bastard.

Respect…it was the one thing that made him better than the man dying here.

The only thing, that made him better...

When he was done, he lay the old man's hand back on his chest.

"I will finish your work. I **will** finish your father's work. Ferelden will be strong again. I will guide King Alistair where he needs to be, and make sure his enemies end up with their heads piked up on the gates of Fort Drakon."

Again, he smiled that small cold smile, but the old man clearly could not hear or see that.

…Such a pity.

He brushed a lock of gray hair out of the old man's eyes, he looked sadly at that face, the face that he had once hated so strongly.

Was he a disappointment to his family? He could not say.

He would let history judge him.

"My life will likely end two ways," he said, "I'll either die in my bed, surrounded by great wealth and servants, or I will find myself on the chopping block outside Fort Drakon, my head joining all those that came before me."

Rich sighed.

"I will not die in a place like this," he spat, "Not like this, not like you."

He shook his head.

"I needed you to know that. When you pass on, go knowing that I **beat** you, that I outlived you, you and all your accusations. I may not be the soldier you wanted, but I will still win in the end."

He rose from the old man's side, slipping on his ring. It was not much, but it was all he had left.

Perhaps it would be enough.

He gave the dying man one final look.

He could not help feeling a little disappointed, but still…he had said his piece.

Perhaps that was all that mattered.

He gave the dying man a short bow, a bow far more gallant than the old bastard deserved.

Still, it was for the best.

Respect was due, so that it what he gave him.

Rich sighed.

"Farewell, Father," he said, "Rest easy, Ferelden is in good hands."

He smiled wickedly.

"Mine."

He turned to leave the chantry, but not before he met with the Revered Mother in charge. He gave her his last sovereign, to pay for his father's burning. It was not much, but what else could he do.

Thaddeus Rich had been a bastard, but he was still his father.

The least he could do was see to his final expenses, it was not much, but it was better than nothing.

Father had given up hope.

He had not.

He left the chantry, once again getting lost in the whirl of Denerim. He still needed to prepare. Soon the King would summon him.

He wanted to be ready when that occurred.

Will brushed lint from his shoulder as he made his way back towards his rented room. He would need to send a letter or two to this noble or that, just to make sure that he got his audience.

Then they could start looking for the conspirators. It would take time, but given what he knew about the conspiracy which was still in its infancy…

They did have some time that was good.

They would need it.


	9. Heavy is the Head

**Chapter 9: Heavy is the Head**

The palace could be very lonely at night.

Alistair had finally retired to royal apartments for the evening, but that did not mean that his work had stopped. He still sat at his desk going over this report or that, preparing for the work of the next day.

A heavy rain slashed at the windows, in the distance thunder rumbled. The late summer storm continued to batter northern Ferelden, it had been raining on and off for the past three days.

The storm did not bother the king, he had gotten used to harsh weather during their struggles against the Blight. He had also recommitted himself to his kingly duties after his recent visit to Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine.

A hint of a smile played across his lips.

He had not lied to the warden commander; there were times that he still missed the whole darkspawn killing thing.

Leonie Caron, the Warden Commander from Orlais had a hard task in front of her. The Ferelden nobles would not make it easy on her, a warden she might have been, but a warden who had spent time on the imperial court. Many would see her as an enemy simply for that purpose. She would need to be clever to survive the next few weeks, equally so to convince those around her that she deserved to serve not just as Commander but Arlessa of Amaranthine as well.

The events surrounding her arrival would not help her on that front.

Her keep breached, her Orlesian brothers dead or missing, possibly taken by the darkspawn, and her with only a handful of raw recruits to rebuild the order.

Plus Oghren, he thought with an amused smile, he could not forget about Oghren.

He was not sure how the Commander would handle his old…rather… _unorthodox_ companion. Still Alistair was glad that someone from their old group had joined the order. Oghren knew how to fight and kill darkspawn, his days in the warrior caste, and the experience he gained there, would prove valuable to the new recruits. He could be a bit of an ass at times, but that did not take away from the dwarf's skill.

The mage he had met seemed like trouble, but the warden commander insisted on taking him, even going so far as to invoke the right of conscription. The Templars who had accompanied him to the vigil were not happy about that, but Alistair saw no reason to block their claim, the wardens needed all the help they could get.

So he had allowed the conscription of this…Anders to stand.

The king sighed.

He hated to admit it, but he was a little jealous of the new wardens. They had a hard road ahead of them, but they would have their brothers to lean on when times get tough. He remembered that well from his short time in the order. Wardens looked out for each other, and the Warden Commander looked out for them.

It was the comradery he missed, having that place where he belonged.

Maker knew, he thought.

I certainly don't have that here.

He rose from his desk wrapping the heavy fur cloak around himself. He glanced around his quarters, a full company could have lived in these rooms comfortably, having them to himself felt…wasteful. They felt empty.

He shook his head.

How do royals live like this?

He tried to image his brother in these rooms. Cailan had lived her with Anora, and had done so for all of his brief reign.

Cailan had been born to this life. Maybe it had come easy to him. Queen Anora had had her work to keep her busy. From what Alistair had gathered from the servants, Cailan had not been as…dutiful a king as some would have liked. He had been perfectly happy to let his Queen tend to business while he enjoyed…other pursuits.

Alistair did not have that luxury, there was just him here in the palace. So he tended to business the best he could.

By himself.

Alone.

Perhaps…perhaps it was better that way. If he screwed up, it would only be he that faced the consequences.

In end, it was those consequences that scared him.

He glanced back at his desk, and all the reports he still had yet to go through. He did his best to make the best decisions, but he still feared that first mistake, that mistake that showed everyone in the kingdom what a fraud he was.

If he made a mistake, his people would suffer; he did not want that on his conscience. Eamon and Teagan claimed he was doing fine, but still…there was so much to do…

It felt like too much sometimes, it…

There was a loud knock on the door.

He glanced up. It was late, most of the palace was in bed by now…

Who could possibly?

"Yes?" he called out.

A servant entered the room, and bowed respectfully.

"The Chancellor, Your Majesty."

He nodded, he shouldn't have been surprised. He had not spoken to Eamon since his return from the Amaranthine.

The Chancellor likely wanted to know what happened.

"Send him in," he said returning to his desk.

A few moments later Chancellor Eamon entered. Despite the lateness of the hour he still appeared ready to face any challenge.

Alistair almost smiled.

Was it any wonder that Eamon had managed to gather the Landsmeet against Loghain so quickly? It was clear that he had not lost a step when it came to doing what was necessary to govern.

Alistair wished that one day he would have half of the old man's strength.

"Your Majesty," Eamon said with a slight bow.

"Chancellor," Alistair replied, "Amaranthine was about as bad as we expected. The darkspawn that fled their after Denerim have sacked Vigil's Keep, the Orlesian wardens are dead."

Eamon frowned grimly.

"And their commander?" he inquired.

"She lives, but only has recruits to help her now. Between that and Bann Esmerelle's badgering, the wardens will no doubt need our support in keeping the Arling secure. Any request for addition soldiers should be considered, I don't want the people thinking we have abandoned them."

The Chancellor nodded.

"That may be difficult; we have been having bandit issues in south. Plus, we have received several reports of Loghain supporters striking out from the Brecilian forest, harassing our soldiers."

The old man shook his head.

"We forces are spread pretty thin; too many loses during the civil war and the Siege of Denerim."

Alistair nodded.

That was to be expected, it would take time to rebuild.

"And there is more," the Chancellor added.

The King winced.

Of course there was.

Eamon gave him a grim look.

Several of our western scouts have reported small parties of Chevaliers moving through the mountain passes. When they have been stopped they have claimed to be about chantry business, but that might only a ruse. They could be testing our defenses, looking for weak spots."

Alistair shook his head.

"Do you believe the Orlesians will attack us?"

Eamon pursed his lips.

"The Empress would not endorse such an attack Your Majesty, or so we have been lead to believe, but there are members of her court…who were _insulted_ that the Orlesian wardens were turned back during the Blight. They believe we endangered their empire with our recent infighting."

The Chancellor sighed.

"Many of those nobles still see us as a rebellious province, a territory that needs to be brought back into the fold of the Empire, for our own good, of course."

"Of course," Alistair sighed.

Eamon shook his head.

"All they are looking for: Is an excuse."

"And Teyrn might have given them one," the King finished.

"It is possible," Eamon said with a shrug.

The whole situation, it was ridiculous.

The king almost laughed.

It was funny, he thought, Loghain had thought he was protecting them by keeping the Orlesians out, but now, by his actions, he might very well of been the trigger that started a new invasion.

Ironic.

"Teagan is going to Val Royeaux," Eamon promised, "To speak with the Empress personally. He will make sure that she understands that we do not need her aid."

Alistair almost laughed again.

The sad fact was that they did need Orlais' aid. The nation had barely made in through the last winter. So much had been destroyed during the Blight. If not for the food stuffs that the Empire had sent…

Ferelden would likely have been in total chaos right now. Starvation would have driven not just a single rebellion but several.

The King sighed.

He did not want his people's suffering to be his legacy.

"We also need to make sure that the Empress knows that we are grateful for her support in these difficult times."

"Perhaps you should draft a letter, let her know in your own hand?" Eamon suggested.

Alistair nodded.

Yes that was a good idea, provided his scribe did not copy everything he had said. He had framed several letters that had included written copies of Alistair's personal musings, words like:

Something…something Gratitude, or Something Compassionate, let her know we care…

The letter had amused those who had received them. The scribe had promised to not be so literal, but Alistair did not buy it.

He suspected that the elf took amusement in his discomfort, either that or was just making sure that he read the letters before they go out.

Either was a good possibility.

They needed to be careful. Orlais was currently at peace with Nevarra that was not necessarily a good thing for a weakened Ferelden. The Orlesian military might think it necessary to sharpen their skills. He needed allies to keep that particular wolf away from their door.

Recent events had revealed one such ally, or at least he hoped the man was an ally.

He trusted Teagan to do what was needed; still it would not hurt to have more help in this endeavor.

"What about Ser Nathaniel Glass?"

Eamon blinked.

"Your Majesty?"

It had been almost three weeks since the Glass family had visited the capital. Alistair had heard little from the man in that time. He knew that Ser Nathaniel still travelled back and forth between his home in Waking Seas and Denerim, but little else.

It was time to change that, especially if the Orlesians were rattling their swords.

Alistair looked up from his desk.

"From what you told me about the man, he does a great deal of business with the Orlesians."

"That is true Your Majesty," the chancellor nodded, "The Glass family were among the first to bring in supplies after the Blight, but I do advise caution."

The old man shifted his gaze slightly.

"Ser Nathaniel is a cunning man, some might say that he expected this very reaction from you, and many of your allies might consider it an insult to turn to him so openly."

"Because of his close ties with Orlais?"

"Yes, and his **family** history, his brother…"

The King frowned.

Bea…the Lady Bridget had mentioned some of that history to him. She did not wish him to hear it from someone else, lest he get the wrong idea about her…about them.

Her honesty had impressed him.

"Has Ser Nathaniel ever done anything against the crown?" he asked.

"No, Your Majesty, but his history…"

"His brother conspired against my grandmother, and was executed by my father for that crime," Alistair said flatly, "He wasn't the only noble who worked with Orlais during the occupation."

"I was not there for those events," Eamon confessed, "But yes, your father admitted as much to me later."

"So it ended there," Alistair said.

"Some might think so."

The King's brow furrowed.

"You don't think so?"

Eamon frowned.

"Some might seek vengeance for the death of their brother."

"True, but Ser Nathaniel was child when all that happened, he was all but raised by his older sister and her husband, a husband that fought with distinction during the rebellion, if I'm not mistaken."

"True, Your Majesty, but still, I advise caution. Ser Nathaniel is a clever man."

"I don't doubt that," Alistair chuckled, "Probably more clever than me, but that is why I have you, isn't it?"

Eamon lowered his head.

"I am your servant," he said," Though if I may speak plainly, Your Majesty should not underestimate yourself. You have proven that you are more than up to the task of ruling our people."

The King snorted at that.

He knew that not everyone agreed with Eamon's assessment. The common people seemed to like him, but that was more because of his actions during the Blight. When that glow of appreciation went away…

Then he would see truly what kind of ruler he was.

"I know my limits Your Grace," he said, "Speak with Ser Nathaniel, see what he can do for us."

"Of course, it will be done" Eamon said, preparing to turn.

Alistair paused, wondering if he should say what he was thinking.

Finally, he threw caution to the wind.

"Oh, and one other thing," Alistair said quickly.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Alistair looked away choosing to turn to the window, lest he make a fool of himself in front of the man that all but raised him.

The King sighed.

"Send my regards to his family as well, especially the Lady Bea. She…well…after everything that has happened in the last few weeks, I want to make sure she is doing well."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Eamon replied.

Alistair frowned. Something in the Chancellor's voice, something silky.

He gave the man a look.

"It isn't what you are thinking."

"I never said it was, Your Majesty."

Again his tone suggested that he was placating him.

Alistair did not like that.

"The girl is a talented scholar, she had promised to share her work with our own scholars. It could be useful in our efforts to recover from the Blight. She is quite intelligent."

"I had not heard that," Eamon confessed, "I did notice that she was an attractive young woman, something that should not be discounted either."

Alistair paused, hoping that shadows would hide the blush in his cheeks.

He sighed.

It was ridiculous. Even after what he had shared with Kallian.

Speaking of women was still hard for him.

He sighed heavily.

"Just send her my regards," he said, "Please."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Eamon said slipping out of the door. The servant closed it behind him.

Once gain the king was left alone.

He thought about what Eamon had said, about the Orlesians and the Glass family history.

He shook his head.

Once again his blood was getting in the way. Events that had happened long before his birth deciding who he was going to be, and who he should associate with.

It was an annoyance, and worse.

He feared that it was right.

Old grudges did not pass on so quickly. He believed Bea…the Lady Glass, when she said her father had no intent for vengeance, what was done was done.

Still, he needed to be cautious.

He swam in a sea of sharks now.

He had no desire to be eaten….

…Which meant keeping people at arm's length, evaluating all their motives, and looking for betrayal, whether it was there or not.

He sighed again.

It was a harsh way to live, but what choice did he have?

Cailan had at least had Anora, but even then he had avoided his responsibilities, was it any reason that Loghain had turned on him?

Alistair did not have that luxury, he had advisors, but at the end of the day, he was alone.

He had no one to turn to now that Kallian was dead.

When he did marry it would likely be a political thing. Hopefully he and his wife would at least get along, be civil with each other. If not…?

Things would be very difficult.

Hopefully, she would not despise him, but that was only minor worry, after the failing of Eamon's little gathering, there were not many prospects to share his life.

For now, he was still alone.

He had no wife to share his burdens or to help him in his work. He could not think of any noble woman who would want the job. He being the bastard king. Some expected that he would not survive the year as king, and did not wish to take the chance.

For now it was just him.

He needed to keep it together and try his best, and do his duty.

He had no one else.

It was just him.

Maker help them all.


	10. Parents and Children

**Chapter 10: Parents and Children**

Bea was in good spirits as she made her way home. She had left early this morning and had only now just returned as dusk began to settle in.

The pale mare carried her and her supplies easily. There was much she would have to do tonight if she wanted to get a letter on its way to the University by tomorrow morning.

The elven stable master took her mount while she removed her pack. It contained many drawings and observations of nearby plant life. She had heard word of a darkspawn attack in the area eight months ago, near the tail end of the Blight, the darkspawn raiders had been moving fast, eager to catch up with the rest of the horde…

Enough life remained in the area for her to study, and make some very curious discoveries and observations.

As before, she had discovered evidence of the plants in the area changing, becoming more wild and perhaps more dangerous. She had taken several samples that she intended to study in greater detail. The first of her reports would be sent to the University as soon as she heard back from one of the senior professors there.

She could not help but smile.

Many of the senior botanists were going to be so jealous of her grand opportunity. Ferelden continued to deny Orlesian scholars the chance to study here. The fear of another occupation worked to her advantage in this instance.

 _A Study of Post-Blight Flora, by Bridget Glass,_ she realized that writing a simple paper on the topic might not be enough. She had gathered so much information in the last few weeks…

Perhaps a book would be more…appropriate.

As a native Ferelden there would be some resistance to her works. It was only because of father's connections that she had gotten into the university in the first place. Few women were allowed into the University, and none were Ferelden born. She had to be twice as good as her male counterparts. Surprising considering that the supreme ruler of Orlais was a woman, but…there it was.

Jealous colleagues would no doubt attempt to cut her work to pieces. She would need to make sure every little detail was ironclad before proceeding…

It might help to have more data, perhaps outside of what she had learned in the field around Denerim?

Hm?

A thought occurred to her. Perhaps she could write the shaperate in Orzammar, find out if any of their scholars had study the plant life that survived in the deep roads, provided that any did of course. She should have asked the King about it. Alistair had been in the deep roads after all, perhaps he could tell her more.

The thought made her chuckle.

Like the King would ever make time to answer her questions. He had so much to do in rebuilding their country. Feeding the curiosity of a scholar was likely the last thing on his list of things to do, and besides she had no real right to think of him so informally. Alistair is what a friend would call him…

She was barely a passing acquaintance; His Majesty deserved more respect than that.

She pushed any thought of inquiring anything from the king out of her mind. She had had her moment in the sun. Now she needed to come back to reality.

The King of Ferelden had better things to do that talk to her.

She slipped into the house, removing her hat and riding cloak. She had hoped that dinner would be ready soon; she was starving after her long ride. Father would no doubt be troubled that she had been gone so long, but that could not be helped. She had so much to do before returning to the University.

She did not want to miss anything.

Normally, one of the servants would come and see if she needed anything. They might not have been high royalty, but the Glass family still did command some respect.

"Hello?" she called out.

It was not a servant that came to her.

She was met at the door by both Margaret and Quentin.

Both of them were grinning widely.

"Where have you been, sister," Em asked, her eyes alight, "You missed all the excitement!"

Bea's brow furrowed.

"I was off gathering specimens," she said, "There were some very interesting plants that I needed to be examined."

Quentin chuckled. Like Em, he did not understand her work, and now that Arland had returned to his posting, there was no one here to help keep Quentin in line.

 _Maker knew; she certainly couldn't._

In the end, she would just have to deal with it.

Quentin was family after all.

He gave her a sly grin.

"Off for more gardening tips, eh?"

She pursed her lips. Wishing that Arland was still around to back her up, oh well…she thought…C'est la vie.

"Something like that," she replied.

She glanced around the house.

"Is Father home? I had hoped to give him a letter, it needs to be sent on its way quickly."

"Father is _not_ here," Quentin answered, "that is what we wanted to tell you."

Bea's brow furrowed. Father had not planned to leave again until the end of the week.

 _Why the sudden change?_

She did not have to wait long to hear the answer.

Her siblings were too excited to keep the news to themselves.

"This is what we needed to talk with you about," Em added, "One of the Chancellor's men stopped by, with an invitation for father to join him for a hunt, and to dine after, apparently."

Hearing this news surprised the youngest Glass.

Most Ferelden nobles did not like associating with Father, with any of the family truth be told. Most still clung to the idea that their father had far too many dealings with Orlais to ever be a true son of Ferelden. It was ridiculous of course, but still the stigma remained.

 _Now, the chancellor_ _ **himself**_ _had taken an interest in Father, it was most surprising._

"It is nice to see that Father's work is finally paying off," she said.

Margaret and Quentin gave each other knowing looks, looks far too sly to be innocent.

Bea frowned.

The look on her siblings' faces reminded her a bit of the cat she had had when she was eight. Lord Mittens had always had that look on his face when he was about to drop a dead mouse at someone's feet.

"What?" she demanded.

Em giggled.

Quentin continued to smirk.

"What?!" Bea repeated.

Her brother chuckled.

"The Chancellor's messenger made a point to ask after you before he left," Quentin informed her, "apparently at the King's request."

Bea' eyes widened.

The King…he…he had asked…asked after her?

That was…surprising.

Margaret gave her a pouty look.

"I'm extremely jealous sister," she began, "I won't lie to you about that. The King of Ferelden asking after my little sister, and after so short a time."

Em smirked.

"You must have said something quite impressive."

Again Quentin chuckled.

"Perhaps she did more than that."

Bea gave him a dirty look.

"We talked brother," she informed him, "He was curious about my studies, that was it."

"And that was all?" Quentin added.

She glared at him; it was the best approximation of the look mother had given them when they were little.

"We. Just. Talked," she said flatly, "Ask Arland if you do not believe me. He would not have let me do anything…provocative."

Quentin and Em glanced at each other; they seemed to be considering what she had said.

Finally, her siblings nodded.

"That may be," Margaret added, "still…good work. You got Papa's foot in the door."

"Now he just has to take advantage of it," Quentin added.

Bea frowned.

She knew how…tenacious father could be when he set his mind on something. If he thought there was some way to use her meeting with the king to their advantage…

She shook her head.

Father wouldn't stop. She knew him well enough to know that.

She pushed past her siblings, a frown on her face.

"I have work to do," she said flatly, "Excuse me."

Quentin and Em let her pass, but as she climbed the stairs to her room, she could hear them gossiping.

She rolled her eyes.

Like a pair of old fish wives, she thought shaking her head.

She idly fingered the straps on her pack.

Suddenly her work did not have the same appeal it did a few minutes ago.

She sighed.

The thought of Father speaking with the Chancellor about her…it did not sit well with her.

She pursed her lips.

Perhaps it would be better if she left for Orlais tonight? Father would be angry, but it would likely make things easier, in the long run.

She stayed out of politics when even she could. The game was far too ruthless for her tastes. Academia was better, more predictable.

Father delighted in such schemes. She preferred to remain apart from them.

She sat her bag down and went to her desk. She looked at the pages she had written up last night.

She tried to remember what had been going through her head when she had written those words, trying to think of where best to plug in her new information, but again and again, her thoughts turned to Father and the Chancellor.

Relax her conscience chided; this probably has nothing to do with you. It is more likely that the Chancellor needed to barter more supplies from the Empire.

Yes, that was likely it.

They had no reason to talk about her, no reason at all?

She was just another scholar after all.

There were hundreds like her.

It was just Em and Quentin's over active imaginations. Father's meeting with the chancellor had nothing to do with her.

It made no sense, no sense at all.

They could not be talking about her.

It was madness.

She shook her head and returned to her work, she had too many things that needed to be catalogued today. She needed to focus on that.

"It's madness," she murmured.

 _Simply madness._

IOI

"Your Youngest has caught the King's attention. We should make use of that."

Ser Nathaniel Glass nodded. The two men were currently walking through the lush fields of one of Northern Ferelden's finest estates. The two nobles had been hunting for the last few hours and were finally on their way back to dine for the evening. The elven servants carried the two bucks they had caught while the Mabari warhounds used for the hunt padded along panting next to their handlers.

Ser Nathaniel adjusted the crossbow he had been using across his back. It had been a long time since any Ferelden noble wished to be seen with him. Many saw him as…too Orlesian for social company.

The noble shook his head.

He found himself thinking back to a conversation he had had with a dwarven trader back in Orlais, a good friend of his in fact. Every year, Gheren would make the long journey back to Orzammar, and every year he would return in a sour mood.

"Orzammar could not survive without surface trade," the dwarf had said, "They happily take our goods, yet expect us to wear a brand on our face and spit on us behind our backs for turning away from the stone."

"Hypocrites," he spat.

The elder Glass had commiserated with his friend. He was not the only one who was persecuted for his business dealings. Whether they liked it or not, Ferelden needed Orlesian goods right now. Goods that men like Nathaniel Glass could provide.

His contacts had not made him popular, but one made coin where one could.

Of course now, a new opportunity had presented itself.

He was not one to let such a thing pass him by.

He smiled at the Chancellor.

"My little Bridget is not an easy girl to predict, Your Grace," he said, "She only agreed to return to Ferelden to feed her curiosity, and now she has managed to do what all the other noble ladies that came to meet with our king could not."

He shrugged.

"It is a bit of irony, don't you think?"

"Yes," Eamon sighed, "The King is equally…hard to predict. The lad takes after his father more and more. Cailan, Andraste keep him, was more predictable in his moods, but Alistair is far more committed to his throne."

Glass nodded.

King Cailan's…moods were well known, even in Orlais. Rumor had it that Empress Celene had sought to bring Ferelden back into the fold by marriage. That she had been trying to convince Cailan to throw off Anora MacTir in favor of a new alliance. Whether that was true or not was a moot point now. Cailan was dead and Alistair too much of wild card to tempt the Empress further...

…Which of course, played better into Ser Nathaniel's plans.

"You had a hand in raising the King, did you not, Your Grace?"

"For a time," Eamon admitted, "King Maric asked me to look after the boy, but when my son was born…I…"

The Chancellor sighed.

"I could have handled the situation better."

"Being a parent is never easy," Glass sighed, "I have four children, and all different agendas."

He smiled slightly.

"How is your son, Your Grace? Is he adapting well to his new life?"

Eamon blinked. Most nobles out of respect for his position did not mention Connor. Glass knew that, which is why he said what he had.

Connor Guerein had been the Chancellor's pride and joy, to try and erase all trace of him no doubt hurt the father, no matter what the boy had done during the Blight.

"He…is…adapting to Circle life, or so I have been told. It will take time though; he is still plagued by nightmares about his…experience during those dark days."

Glass said nothing more; he did not let his glee show. The Chancellor had dominated their meeting for the most part, now he had managed to take back the initiative.

He did not intend to let it go.

"I have heard that your wife is with child again," he said hoping to get matters back on track, "May the Maker bless you with another son."

Eamon snorted.

"Another boy would be nice," he admitted, "But Isolde is hoping for a girl, I think. "

Ser Nathaniel chuckled.

"Good luck if that is what the Maker gives you," he smirked, "Politics is easier than daughters, trust me on that."

Eamon snorted in amusement.

"Speaking of daughters," the Chancellor began again, "I wish to know more about your youngest, Bridget, is it?"

"Yes, Your Grace, Bea…excuse me, Bridget, we simply call her Bea is well read young woman, she has been at University for…three years now I think?"

"Any suitors?" the Chancellor inquired.

"None, Your Grace," he said, "Bea had never been comfortable around people; she prefers her books to boys always has. There was a boy about two years ago, a Marquis' son, but that ended when the boy accepted and arranged marriage. They have not seen each other since."

"Hm," Eamon replied.

"They were **never** together," he added quickly, "My younger boy Quentin watched over his sisters while I attended to the family business. Bea's maidenhood remains intact, I am certain."

"Surprising considering the girl spent so much time in Orlais."

Glass chuckled, another point for His Grace. This trip was turning into a bit of a fencing match. It seemed that the Chancellor understood the game as well as any of the noble's in Orlais.

That was good, that made him predictable.

"Bea's scholarly pursuits have always been her first love. That is why wished to attend the University."

"But you would wish something else for her?" Eamon inquired.

Ser Nathaniel sighed.

"I want my children to find happiness," he said.

"And if you can profit from their happiness?"

"That is the way of the noble world, is it not, Your Grace?"

Eamon chuckled.

And so their dance continued.

IOI

They spoke little after that, at least until they had returned to the estate. There was no further discussion of business until over dinner that evening. The two men dined alone, and only after all the servants had left did they continue their discussion.

Eamon leaned back in his chair, a glass of Antivan Brandy in his hand.

"Tell me Glass," he began, "How do our Orlesian neighbors see our King?"

"They are curious of course; they know little of the King's pedigree, though they respect his skill in war. The recent Blight proved his quality beyond doubt."

"Do they favor a candidate to become his Queen?"

Glass shifted in his chair. He debated if it was in his interest to speak honestly.

In the end, honesty won, it was better that the Chancellor hear this from him then someone else.

"Grand Duke Gaspard is trying to convince his sister the Duchess Florianne to enter the fray. Celene knows of this of course, but so far as made no move to block it."

Eamon nodded.

"Such a marriage would likely bring in a very large dowry."

Perhaps, Your Grace," Glass shrugged, "But…personally, I think the Grand Duchess unacceptable for the role. Such a marriage could turn the Ferelden nobles fierce towards the king, and there is the duchess herself. She has spent her entire life in the Imperial Court; she would likely not function well here in Ferelden."

The Chancellor gave him a slight smile.

"Are you saying that as a native Ferelden, or as a noble father who wishes to put his own daughter forward?"

Glass chuckled.

"A bit of both, Your Grace, but even you must see the risk. An Orlesian warden now rules Amaranthine, on the King's order, no less. If he was to accept an Orlesian marriage, it could give the Loghain loyalists the excuse they need to try and oust the king."

He set down his wine goblet.

"None of us want that."

Eamon grunted.

"True enough," he agreed, "But that leads us to another problem. How are we going to convince the King and your daughter that it is in their best interest to pursue their…fraternization."

Glass smiled slightly.

So far, Eamon was dancing to the tune he was playing.

The Chancellor sighed.

"Cailan would not have needed any coaxing. He saw a beautiful girl he desired, he pursued her. Alistair is…a bit more awkward."

Glass again had to hide his glee.

Even better, he thought, Bea's…shyness with men would not put the king off if he was equally inexperienced.

He would need to speak to Margaret, convince her to give her sister some tips on how to get the King's attention.

His eldest daughter understood how to manipulate a man. She would be a great help to Bea in this matter.

"There is one other problem, Your Grace," he said shifting in his chair.

"Eh?" Eamon said.

Glass looked down at his plate.

"Bea intends to return to the University in few weeks."

"Unacceptable," Eamon said, "She needs to be seen. She should be brought to court."

"I agree," her father said, "I'm only saying that it will not be easy. She is very dedicated to her studies."

Eamon pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

"Perhaps the king can offer her something, a reason for her studies to keep her here in Ferelden?"

Glass smiled again.

He would have suggested such a move himself, but it worked better when the noble he was trying to convince reached the point he wanted him to on his own.

It made it easy for what came next.

"Perhaps, Your Grace," he agreed.

Eamon gave him a cool look. For a moment, Ser Nathaniel feared he had overplayed his hand. He could not appear too eager.

The rewards were too great.

"You do not seem to mind the fact that we are planning to manipulate the King? That we are planning to manipulate your own daughter, your own flesh and blood?"

Glass shrugged.

"Sometimes a parent needs to push their child where they need to go, for their own good. If a bird did not push its hatchling out of the nest, it would never learn to fly."

He smiled slightly.

"By helping my daughter find more than her books, I'm helping myself and the nation of course."

Eamon snorted.

"Of course," he replied. He raised his wine goblet.

"A toast then Glass," he said, "to what comes next."

"To what comes next," Ser Nathaniel said raising his own.

"To the King!"

"To the King!"

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

"To the children," Glass said, "And the future they will bring!"

Eamon smiled.

"Yes, Ser Glass…to the children."


	11. The Regal and the Rich

**Chapter 11: The Regal and the Rich**

"Be careful, Your Majesty."

It was with those words in mind that Alistair made his way to the garden to meet with Mister Wilbur Rich. Eamon was still not comfortable with the idea given the man's history and reputation. Rich had always been seen as a…wild card in the royal court, always ferreting out the various nobles dirty laundry and sharing it with Loghain and his supporters.

Eamon and Teagan had provided him with everything that was known about the man. Wilbur Rich had first appeared in Gwaren thirteen years ago. He had still been in his teens at the time. He had come with a small sack of gold and large ambitions. Somehow he had managed to secure a deed to a small tavern in the city, and immediately set to making it one of the best in Ferelden. The man managed to gain loans from several wealthy patrons, and turned that money towards improving his business. Soon, _The Dragon's Rest_ , as the place had come to be known was frequented by only the most wealthy and powerful in Ferelden. Rich ran a tight ship, fights were kept to a minimum, and nobles' needs were tended to without delay. He quickly earned a reputation as a friend to the ruling class…

That reputation had died shortly after he received it.

According to the rumors that Eamon had heard, Teyrn Loghain cracked down hard on several…illicit business dealings involving some of his nobles. How he learned about these dealings was not clear, not at first. Then letters began arriving at the door of many of the taverns noble patrons, asking for either support or coin for many of the Teyrn's pet projects. Most of merchants and nobles quickly cowed to the Teyrn's wishes, but a few more enterprising souls tried to find out exactly what had happened, who had leaked their secrets to the Teyrn.

It all led back to _The Dragon's Rest_ , and Mister Wilbur Rich. The man had taken his patrons secrets and used them to his own advantage. He had told Loghain everything.

The noble and merchants with whom Rich dealt were furious. According to Eamon there had been talk of having the man arrested and dragged before the King. They believed that the commoner should be punished for his betrayal of noble trust. Some wished him exiled; others said he should be beheaded. Teyrn Loghain had made sure that that did not happen. He spoke on Rich's behalf before both Maric and the royal court. The secrets Rich had uncovered were damning, yes, but they were also a threat to the nation, rather than simply blackmail the conspirators for his own gain, Rich had brought what he knew to the Teyrn and his allies, in the Teyrn's eyes that had been a good thing, an honest thing. Loghain had managed to deal with several…problems thanks to Rich's information, he saw the man as a friend and a peer to the realm. In the end, Maric had agreed with his old friends wishes.

Rich was not punished for what he had done if anything, he was rewarded for it.

Within three years of his arrival in Gwaren, the man was quickly one of the richest and most influential members of Loghain's court. The nobles might have grown cold to him, but he had used his time in the sun to cultivated many contacts among their servants and business partners, contacts that allowed Rich to continue and grow his business interests. His relationship with the Teyrn led to the man having almost as much power behind Loghain's throne then the noble had sitting on it. Even the nobles who hated him were forced to work with him, lest they anger his patron, between Loghain's reputation and Rich's information, the two had formed a profitable and powerful alliance.

At least, until the battle of Ostagar, and the rise of Rendon Howe…

After that, Wilbur Rich had lost everything. The man had vanished. Rendon Howe had been given all his Denerim businesses, while Loghain himself claimed his holdings in and around Gwaren. Rich had vanished without a trace. Many had assumed, before he had turned up at court a few weeks ago that the man had died in the war, just as so many other of Loghain's enemies had done.

Now the man was back, and the nobles were not happy about it, Eamon chief among them. He wanted the man banished from court before he could resume his former status, before he could harm the nation.

Alistair shook his head.

There was a time he would not have hesitated to obey his chancellor's wishes. If Eamon had said the man was trouble he would have sent him away and that would have been that. However, the king could not dismiss his curiosity in this matter. Rich knew that he knew the man's history, and given the way Teyrn Loghain's life had ended, few of his old supporters would even have dared approach the King of Ferelden now, not directly anyway…

Alistair sighed.

In this, he had to disappoint his chancellor. He needed to know what had motivated the man to simply walk in the royal court and request and audience. The man was either very brave, foolish, or both.

The King needed to know which.

Dealing with Rich was just another duty he needed to do to safe guard his people. He had undertaken many such missions since his coronation.

Denerim was still being rebuilt. There was also their work at trying to restore life to the lands tainted by the darkspawn horde. Then there was the Dalish in the south, and his reorganizing of the Alienages under Shianni's rule.

So many things required his attention; it was enough to make his head spin most days. Of course, not everything was bad. Eamon had finally gotten onboard with his plan to research the darkspawn, offering money and resources to scholars to come and help.

He smiled slightly.

The Lady Bridget Glass was the first such scholar.

Alistair was glad that his Chancellor had finally seen sense. There were still many darkspawn raiders terrorizing the north. Far too many to count in fact, the monsters had not returned to the deep roads as they had in the aftermath of past Blights. The warden commander was looking into it, but still…

Alistair frowned.

Something was clearly going on with the monsters, something that the wardens did not understand.

They needed to find out what it was.

The people needed to know that their king was trying to safeguard them against these monsters. The knowledge that these scholars would gather would help do that. The Lady Glass seemed confident that it might be possible to breed edible plants resistant to the taint, plants that would not make people sick. If that could be done…it would go a long way to freeing Ferelden from relying too heavily on Orlesian trade this winter.

Plus, having another friendly face in the capital would not be a bad thing either.

Thinking of the noble scholar relaxed him. She was not…what he expected, he could not deny that. Had someone told him after their little…mud bath, that they would have a chance to become friends he would have laughed.

He was happy that they had been able to move past such…awkward beginnings.

He found himself thinking about their little talk in these very gardens, not the words themselves, but little things. The way the sun reflected off her dark hair, by candle light it looked jet black, but the sun revealed streaks of dark red, like fire pushing back the shadows. Her smile that was really not a smile, just a slight rise of her lips on one side, and then there was the line on her brow. A single furrow in forehead when she was deep in thought, or trying to think of how best to phrase her words.

He remembered that all quite clearly, funny what things the mind held onto.

…Funny, but interesting.

He finally reached the fountain where he had met Bea. Wilbur Rich was waiting, his hands behind his back. The former courtier was wearing the same dark clothes he had worn the last time he was here.

Alistair paused, waiting for his herald to introduce him.

Rich turned at announcement, smiling that cold smile of his, and bowing deeply.

Alistair tried not to flinch; the man was shifty, that much was clear.

He had an…oiliness about him; it reminded the former warden of his friend Zevran. Both men seemed more than capable of knifing you in the back if you weren't careful.

Alistair pursed his lips.

In this Eamon was right.

He needed to be very careful.

"Your Majesty," Rich purred in that raspy voice of his, "Thank you so very much for this audience."

"I could hardly refer Ser Wilbur," he said, "More than a few nobles said it was in my best interest to meet with you."

The king smiled.

"I wonder why that was?"

Rich chuckled.

"They no doubt feared that I would make certain things I know…public if you did not."

The man shrugged.

"It was not so much about you, you see, but **them**. Nobles **always** think of themselves first."

Alistair crossed him arms.

"No respect for the higher class?"

Rich shrugged.

"Nobles are just men and women, Your Majesty. They have the same secrets, desire, and vices that any other man or woman has."

Rich smiled predatorily.

"I have made it my mission in life to know those secrets, desires, and vices. Once you know those things, you see the truth."

Alistair arched an eyebrow.

"And what truth is that, Mister Rich?"

"Everyone has a price, your Majesty, from the pauper on the street, to the Empress of Orlais."

He smirked.

"Once you know that price, you can move them where they need to be, for the good of the realm of course."

"Of course," the king said, still not sure what to make of the man.

Rich did not strike him as a patriot, but at the same time, everything he had done in the past seemed to be for the good of Ferelden.

Alistair was at least willing to listen to him, for that reason if nothing else.

Rich glanced around the gardens.

"We have things to discuss," he said, "Is there a place where we can speak privately?"

"Here is fine," Alistair said, "Only two guards are following us."

Rich gave him a knowing look.

"There are many eyes on you, Your Majesty, some not with the most benevolent of motives, but if you insist, let us walk and talk, it will make it harder for us to be overheard."

He gestured forward.

"Lead the way, Your Majesty," he said, "It is your right after all."

Alistair nodded and motioned for the other man to follow.

Rich fell in step beside him. The guards fell back so that the man would have the chance to speak privately…

…Or at least as privately as the palace allowed.

IOI

Wilbur Rich said nothing until the two of them were far from the bulk of the servants tending to the care of gardens. He glared several times at one or two servants who got too close to him and the King.

Will almost sighed with frustration.

In the last few days he had made it a point to learn just how many spies were watching the king at any one time. He knew of at least three as they passed them. One in the service of the Chancellor, another in the employ of the Nevarran ambassador, and a third who reported to Mother Allison in the chantry, so many little birds ready to sing about the king's business to whoever would pay them.

Rich snorted.

 _Perhaps the king needed to invest in a cat, one with a taste for birds._

It was very frustrating to be sure.

Still he would **not** be denied.

He had given his word to his Father.

He would protect the king and the nation.

Hopefully, Alistair would see the truth before it was too late.

Hopefully.

IOI

"I must congratulate you, my king."

Alistair arched an eyebrow.

"For what?" he asked.

Rich smirked.

"For beating the nobles' inquest," he said, "Hopefully, that will be the end of any such investigations in the future."

The King frowned.

He had been well aware of the Inquest. No sooner had he taken the throne that a group of nobles began questioning his birth. A few doubted that he was Maric's son, and had tried to remove him by proving that he wasn't. The results of that inquest had proven…inconclusive, it had been enough to silence most of his enemies but not all…

Alistair glanced at Rich.

Few people had mentioned the inquest to him, not wishing to anger or insult him. The fact that Rich had…it brought up an interesting question.

Was he trying to provoke the king to anger, make him do something foolish?

What would gain by such a thing?

The man chuckled.

"I apologize if I have offended," he said, "But I am a man who does not ignore unpleasant topics, especially when my king needs to hear them, which brings me to why I am here."

"And what do I need to hear?" Alistair asked.

The man smirked.

"Something that you no doubt already know, that you are surrounded by enemies, some more patient than others. It is the ones that are not patient that concern me today. They are the reason I have chosen to make my services available to you."

Rich looked at his finger nails, a man wheeling a cart of seeds passed them by, he did not speak again until he was sure the man was out of earshot.

He looked at the king.

"Four months ago, I learned of a conspiracy against, Your Majesty," he began, "People that are not interested in trusting your removal to a simple inquest. The conspirators were still recruiting at that time, but from what little I was able to gather, this is more than just a group of fools, everything I have seen suggests that they intelligent, determined, and well-funded."

"How did you learn about this?" he asked.

Again Rich smiled.

"They tried to recruit me of course. My place at Teyrn Loghain's side over the years was enough to convince two of the conspirators that I might make a useful ally to their cause."

"They are Loghainists then? Trying to put the Lady Anora back on the throne?"

"That is what I thought, at first," Rich agreed, "I was intrigued of course, and pointed them in the direction of two more possible recruits, to get in deeper with them you understand?"

Alistair nodded, so far he was following.

Rich paused, inspecting a rosebush, making sure that no one was listening on the other side probably.

"The five of us agreed to meet at a small farmhouse not far from Highever Castle. I had hoped that they were taking me to meet the person behind all this, or at the very least, the next link in the chain."

He sighed.

"On the way to that meeting, my horse threw a shoe. I was forced to walk him to nearby village, the smithy was able to get me on my way again, but by that time I was five hours late."

"Your fellow conspirators were gone by that time, I take it?"

"In a manner of speaking," Rich chuckled, "The house was empty; food still on the table, the tea had gone cold. Even their travelling cloaks remained."

Rich shook his head.

"I found them in the barn," he said rubbing his neck, the scarf covering the rope scar there. He shivered.

"They had hanged themselves, Your Majesty, all of them, the farmer and his family, their guards, everyone."

Hearing **that** made the king pause, he…he did not know what to say...

…All of them…even the farmer and his family?

The mere thought made him shudder.

"Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all?" he said, falling back on the humor that always let him survive harsh situations.

"I suppose it doesn't," Rich chuckled again.

The man looked down at the cobblestones.

"The point that needs to concern you, Your Majesty," he continued, "Was the state of the farm itself. No signs of a struggle, no sign of any resistance of any time. It looked like everyone just got up from what they were doing, walked out into the barn and…and…

Rich coughed, his hand once again going to his neck.

"And that was it," he finished.

Alistair said nothing, digesting what he had heard.

People did not generally just hang themselves for fun. Had Rich's conspirators walked into a trap that would have been one thing, but he said there was no sign of a struggle. No drawn blades or signs of blood…

Maker's breath.

What had happened out there?

"I sent word to the Teyrn's men before I left," he said, "Fergus Cousland will verify what I saw that night. I suspect his men were as…unsettled as I by what I saw in that barn."

Rich swallowed hard.

"Why those men were killed, I don't know, if I had arrived on time, I would likely have joined them. As I said, whoever was behind that was more than willing to kill to protect their secrets."

"It could have been rival nobles," Alistair suggested, "People loyal to the crown who did not want to risk a trial."

"True," Rich agreed, "But that would have left some signs of battle. People generally don't go and hang themselves without at least trying to save their lives."

He shook his head again.

"It is more likely that someone learned that I was involved and did not want to take the chance of me coming to you with what I had learned. Perhaps they had gotten tired of waiting and decided to send me a message, or maybe one of my fellows did something that angered whoever is in charge, whatever the reason, the result was the same."

Alistair stopped walking; his warriors mind had taken over. He and Kallian had escaped several ambushes during the Blight, all set by Loghain and Howe, but this…what Rich was describing…

He was not sure what to make of it.

"I will need to speak with Teyrn Cousland," he said, "verify this story."

"Of course," Rich said, "It is not something the Teyrn would be able to forget."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No, Your Majesty, just you."

Alistair nodded.

"Keep it that way," he said, "At least for now."

"Of course," Rich said with a slight bow, "I would also like to keep looking into this. I have a few contacts that can be discreet, with your permission, of course?"

"Of course, you have it," Alistair said.

"Thank you, your Majesty," he said smiling, "I had hoped that you would understand."

"Just one thing though."

"Yes?"

Alistair gave the man a hard look. It was the kind of look Kallian would give someone when she was discussing warden business, she may have been a foot shorter than most, but she always seemed to make her point. He was not as good at it as she, but he thought Rich got the message.

"Why are you doing this? Why bring this to me?"

Rich shrugged.

"You're the King," he answered, "It is my duty to serve you. One day I hope you will accept that. I am…a loyal servant of Ferelden."

Alistair gave the man another hard look. He hoped he did not look stupid doing so.

The man paused.

"You don't trust me?" he asked.

"I don't know you," Alistair reminded him.

"True," Rich said nodding.

They faced each other for a bit, each seeing who would flinch first.

Surprisingly, it was Rich who broke the stare down first. He chuckled again.

"I was right to come to you," he said, "I've heard some call you fop, a puppet of the chancellor."

"You don't agree?" The King asked.

"Not anymore," Rich said, "If I may offer you one friendly warning Your Majesty. Tread lightly, and be careful of who you trust. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to deal with my would-be allies. They would not do so without reason. Whoever they are…they have an agenda."

Alistair nodded; he remembered how things had been during the Blight. Several times they had been attacked by people claiming to be on their side. This was no different; accept that he did not have Kallian or the others here to get him out of trouble.

It was shame; he could have used their help.

He looked at Rich.

He did not trust the man, not really, but that did not mean that he could not use his information, if someone was after him, it was good to know. Better to be cautious then face down in a ditch.

"Do you know of anyone in the capital that I can trust?" he asked.

The man smiled.

"Trust no one, Your Majesty. Until you have cemented your rule, you are always in danger. I will do what I can to help, but you must make allies yourself, and keep an eye out for treachery."

"So I should trust you?" he asked.

Rich laughed at that.

"Maker no," he said, "I'm just as dangerous as anyone else here in the capital, we share common interests for now, but that may change."

Rich smirked.

I will do what I can, but you must still be wary, but for now, we have other things to deal with. "

He bowed again.

"With your leave, Your Majesty, I will see what I can dig up on the people responsible for killing my would-be allies."

Alistair nodded.

"I will return, in the meantime, keep an eye on the court. Someone out there has powerful friends."

He gave the king a shark-like look.

"I would hate to see you come to a bad end."

The man turned to leave. Alistair began to head back to the palace, his mind whirling.

He did not like the paranoia the man was selling, but he had made several good points…

…Several **scary** good points.

Rich had been right, people did not usually just kill themselves, not without help, and with no sign of a struggle, that left one possibility, one rather…uncomfortable possibility.

The King sighed.

He would send word to Fergus Cousland, and to Knight-Commander Greagoir at Kinloch Hold. Hopefully, the man would have a Templar or two to spare, people who he could send to Highever.

Templars would be able to verify his suspicion.

The king returned to palace. Eamon would no doubt want to hear about this. He would tell him, but he would not mention that Rich had been involved with the conspirators, or that he was continuing to look into the matter.

He would not lie; not exactly, just keep some of the facts to himself.

The king shook his head.

Leliana would like have agreed with him this point. Kallian too, but…still that did not make easy.

He sighed.

In the end it was all about politics, and he hated politics, but what else could he do. Kallian would have known what to do, but sadly, she was not here. He was. It was his responsibility.

After all, he was the King.

Andraste protect them all.

 **Next Chapter: A future enemy revealed!**


	12. The Price of Power

**Chapter 12: The Price of Power**

 _It should have been Margaret._

That was the one thought that occurred most to Ser Nathaniel Glass as he escorted his daughter Bridget back to the capital. The coach in which they were riding had been supplied by Chancellor Eamon himself, all the goods be had requested be brought to her new lodgings were already likely in route as well.

He should have been happy, everything was going as planned, and yet…he could not stop the tiny twinge of his conscience, that single doubt that would not go away.

He reminded himself that everything he was doing was for the best, that it was good for both his family, and the nation as a whole. His daughter had caught the king's eye, it was his duty to serve his king, and if having Bea here did that, then that was what was best.

Still…some doubt remained, it would have been better had it been Margaret who had caught the king's eye. Margaret not only knew her place, but accepted the way that things were. His elder daughter would have accepted this charge openly and without any need for manipulation.

Margaret had wanted to be with the king, she would have gone to his bed with spring in her step and a happy tune on her lips. Bea was…well…she had different ideas about the world.

Glass shivered wrapping his cloak tighter around him. Bea, who was sitting next to him, gave him a curious look.

"Are you alright Papa?" she asked.

Glass gave her a wan smile.

"Do not worry about me, sweetheart," he said, "I'll be fine. All you should be focusing on right now is what you are going to show the king and the chancellor."

He gently squeezed his daughter's hand.

"I'm sure they will be impressed."

Bea blushed slightly. It was rare that Glass commented on her work. He had never really understood it, so it was impossible for him to say that it was any good. Bea's instructors back in Orlais lauded her accomplishments however, and that had been enough for the king.

 _At least, that is what Glass had told her when the letter summoning them back to Denerim arrived. The truth was…a bit more complicated._

Bea had been very eager to return to her studies back in Orlais. Both he and the Chancellor recognized that they could not allow that. They needed to keep the King's attention, and Bea could not do that from Val Royeaux.

So it had come down to a simple question, how were they going to convince Bea to stay? How were they going to get her to **want** to stay?

It had taken him and the chancellor an hour and half a bottle of Antivan Brandy to come up with just how to do that. He could not simply order his youngest to remain in Ferelden, that would not serve their purpose, no, she needed to want to remain in the capital.

It was like the old saying, you could lead a horse to water, but you could not make it drink.

If Bea was to become _involved_ with the king, they needed to make it appear that it had been her choice.

Fortunately, she had given him and the Chancellor the perfect lever to pull, it wasn't even a trick. In fact it was something the king had been requesting since the end of the Blight.

It was almost too perfect truth be told.

The chancellor had been more than pleased.

He remembered a conversation he had had with his daughter on their first trip to Denerim for the gathering of ladies. Bea had been trying to explain the world of the University of Orlais to him. How the scholarly world worked.

Surprisingly, it was not that different from the royal court.

Academics, Bea had told him, competed ruthlessly for the attention of noble patrons. Patrons who supplied the funds and prestige necessary for the scholar to do his or her work, in Orlais, the most successful academics had the most powerful patrons. They could open doors that a struggling researcher could not open on her own...

…Hence the fierce competition.

According to Bea, the Empress was the most influential patron of all. Her collection of scholars was doing the most challenging work, work that would one day bring the Empire forward. It was said that the Empress was willing to do anything to continue that advancement, even going so far as admitting commoners and elves into the Universities hallowed halls.

Of course, those commoners still needed patronage of a wealthy noble. Bea had been lucky; her father's friends had opened many doors for her. If not for his contacts, she might not have enjoyed the success at the university that she had.

The other nations of Thedas had not caught on yet to just how valuable the discoveries of the University could be for the Empire. The right breakthrough at the right time could tip the balance of power in Orlais' favor.

His daughter mentioned that, but it was clear that personal power had little or no interest to her.

Bea, being Bea, wasn't looking for political power, she saw herself as, what she called, _a pure academic_. In her eyes, all knowledge should be shared freely, offered to everyone who wished it, for the benefit of all in Thedas.

Glass had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that.

He doubted that the other nations would be so grateful. Orlais had many rivals. Rivals hungry to see the empire brought low. The discoveries made at the university that his daughter would willingly share would eventually find their way into the hands of other nations, but not before Orlais had mastered them and come up with the next best thing.

That was simply the way the world worked, the way that power worked.

The idea of sharing it willingly…

Maker help us all.

He loved his daughter, but sometimes, his little Bea could be extremely naïve. He hoped that one day she would grow out of that.

Still, she had given him what he needed to keep her here.

It had all been so simple.

Noble patronage was the academic's bread and butter, she had said, to be an academic enjoying the support of a high noble was what everyone at the University sought after, and fought for.

It had not been hard to convince the Chancellor to give him what they needed.

Eamon had wasted no time in drafting a letter, offering his little Bea the support of the crown for her work. Ferelden was willing to offer her resources, and the funds she needed to continue her work on the king's behalf.

When Bea had read the letter, she had practically squealed with delight!

Royal support did not come along every day, she knew that, now she would be able to take her work to the next level, or so she claimed.

Bridget had embraced her father, gushing over him, singing his praises and offering him thanks.

Glass tried to downplay his role in what had happened, as much as possible.

This wasn't me, Sweetheart, he had said, **your** work has…impressed the right people, now you have what you need to do, what is best for your family and your home.

Ba had nodded, promising that she would not let their family down.

Glass hoped that that was true.

The Chancellor wanted certain _things_ ; he hoped that Bea would be able to deliver.

Margaret would be remaining at her sister's side, to guide their little Bea where she needed to go. Quentin would also be close by; making sure that Ser Nathaniel was kept informed on Bea's progress. It was the best they could do, given the circumstances.

They would put the King and Bea together, and hopefully nature would take its course.

Again Glass felt that twinge of conscience.

He tried to push such thoughts aside, what they were doing was not only for Ferelden's benefit but Bea's as well. The King, according to Glass' sources was a good man, a man who stood by those that he had feelings for, a man that did not forget those that did for him.

Glass suppressed a slight smile.

If Bea managed to become…intimate with the king, the Glass family's fortunes would be set, if she gave the king an heir, even better. Glass knew well the rewards such happy happenings could offer those who helped them come to pass. The Chancellor had suggested some such rewards during their little meeting.

Such rewards were too good to pass up.

If Bea did what was necessary, the possibilities were almost endless. She could secure all their futures. He could become a high nobleman overnight! Several of the Bannorns and Arlings were currently under the direct control of the crown, their holders having died during the civil war. The Arling of Denerim was one such holding.

Glass licked his lips in anticipation.

Arl Nathaniel Glass, new Arl of Denerim.

Wouldn't that be a sight to see!

And it would not end there.

He saw a Generalship for Arland. A spot on the Landsmeet for Quentin, maybe even a Bannorn of his own. Margaret would be able to stay close to the capital, which meant that she would have a chance of landing a high lord for a husband, a husband that would contribute to their family's wealth and prestige.

It was all within their reach, and all Bea had to do was keep the King happy, and hopefully find some happiness in return.

 _And all you have to do is sell your daughter to the Chancellor and the King,_ his conscience chided.

 _All you have to do is make your youngest no more valuable than a common whore._

Glass pushed such thoughts away. He was no fool. He knew how the game was played. The powerful used their children to secure greater power that was the way the game worked.

It was the burden of power.

That…was the price he would have to pay.

He tried not to dwell on the negative side of things, this was a happy day.

All they had to do was get the King and Bea in close proximity, nature would do the rest, with a little help from Quentin and Margaret if needed.

Now Glass did smile.

It was perfect. After years of disgrace, their family would finally be back where it belonged. He would erase any trace of his late brother's sins.

When he was through, no one would even dare mention the death of Bann Keir in his presence. No one would call him the brother of a dead traitor, no one would dare. Nathaniel Glass would stand on his own, and all because of his sweet little Bea.

She would assure the future of their family.

…And if Bea remained ignorant of the plans swirling around her, so much the better.

Her happiness was all that mattered.

He would see his child rise to the highest of heights.

And where went, her family would not be far behind.

That was the way of the world.

That was the noble's burden.

It was a price he was more than willing to pay…

…Gladly.

IOI

Ser Nathaniel's carriage rolled passed the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Inside the great and near great of Ferelden drank, played cards, and plotted the moves that would bring them both fame and profit in slowly rebuilding Ferelden. The darkspawn horde had destroyed much, including the Gnawed Noble during their siege of Denerim, but like the country itself the establishment had once again risen from the ashes. It once again was open for business, with all the scheming and plotting once again taking place in its well furnished rooms.

Many nobles had come and gone since the Tavern reopened, all with their own plans and coups. One such noble currently stood at the window, watching as the Father and daughter Glass passed below. In the coming years she would come to be a major thorn in the side of King Alistair and the Glass family as a whole.

She was young, only fourteen years old, she was slim and gawky, coltish really, but that would not last forever. She was a bit of a late bloomer, but the beauty she would one day possess was already starting to shine through. Her red gold curls were stylized in the latest fashion, her gown and jewelry all purchased recently, all meant to show her off to the rest of the court.

One day she would be one of the most powerful nobles in Ferelden, or at least appear to be.

The girl smiled.

She was never meant to wield any real power, she knew that. She had heard her patrons talking with the Duchess, the woman who had raised her. They intended her to be a figure head, a symbol to rally the nobles around, while they reaped the benefits, wielded the real power.

It was a fiction she would tolerate, at least for now.

 _Never forget where you come from,_ the Duchess had said, _the very same people that cast you aside will never simply hand you what you deserve. If you want something, you will have to take it._

She had been impressed with Bann Esmerelle's recent coup. The Bann could be quite ruthless when she needed to be. The girl had been at the farmhouse when the Bann and her allies removed the fools that had made the mistake of trying to recruit Mister Wilbur Rich into their plan. Those people needed to be silenced, them and any witnesses.

 _It was a shame that Mister Rich had not attended that little party but so be it,_ her patron had said.

The deed still had needed to be done.

She watched at the mage had made the people hang themselves one by one. She had been both horrified and in awe of the act…

…To wield such power, to hold another's life in your hands.

She giggled nervously, quickly covering her mouth before any could see or hear.

It was incredible. She wanted such power for herself.

 _It can be yours,_ a little voice in her head whispered.

 _All you have to do is be brave enough to take it._

She nodded to herself.

She could be brave.

Now, she just had to have patience.

She wanted **more**. She **deserved** more.

Now, all she had to do was wait for the right time to seize it.

How she was going to do that, she wasn't quite sure, but her time would come, she was sure of it. She had talents of course, some more… _interesting_ than others. They would give her an edge when the time came.

She would have everything she had ever wanted, all that and more.

The girl smiled at the thought.

Her name was Lorelei, she was the bastard daughter of Rendon Howe, the rightful Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Denerim and Amaranthine, and today was her first day in the capital, the first of many…

Maker help them all.


	13. Lorelei

**Chapter 13: Lorelei**

In the far north western part of Ferelden, nestled in a small valley close to the foothills of the Frostback Mountains, there existed a tiny noble estate.

It had existed for over thirty years, the house built during the days of the Orlesian occupation, the barn, the fountain outside, even the house itself spoke of its Orlesian origins. It had been a fine home once, but over the decades since its construction, it had fallen into disrepair. The young men and women who had been raised here did what they could, but there was only so much they could do.

Places like this remained hidden because they were unremarkable, that was the whole point.

Places like this, continued to exist, because they did not officially exist, at least not in polite society.

It was only available, if it was needed.

To the nobles of Ferelden, it was known as the forgotten estate, when it was discussed at all, which was rare. It was here that they hid away the results of their secret liaisons…

It was here that Lorelei Howe's life truly began.

IOI

Built in the latter years of the Orlesian occupation, the Forgotten Estate had been the home of the Mistress of an Orlesian Duke. The girl, though Ferelden and of noble birth had lost everything when her father had anger the Orlesian ruler. The usurper had shown no mercy in dealing with the girl's family, killing them to the last. Only she was spared, and only then because it pleased the king's advisors.

 _Let the girl live, Your Majesty,_ one had said, _let the Fereldans see what happens to those that displease you. How quickly a child of wealth and nobility can fall._

The man had smiled then.

 _Let them all see how quickly she is forced to become a whore._

The Orlesian had laughed at that, the man had made an excellent point, and it was a fine jest as well…

 _The girl…was left to_ _ **suffer**_ _._

The duke, a much older man had long coveted the girl from afar. He took her to his Estate in far western Ferelden, far from the eyes of the king, and there she lived for only a few years. The girl died in childbirth, bringing her child with her benefactor into the world. Their daughter survived, but the father never had anything to do with her. After all…he already had a wife in Val Chevin.

His true bride would never have tolerated the little bastard in her house.

Never.

Still the Duke bore the girl no ill-will. She was still his daughter after all. He provided for her for a time, her education, and her household. The nobles of course would have nothing to do with her, given who her mother was, leading to the girl have a very lonely childhood. Her governess did what she could, not wishing to anger the duke, and at the same time dealing with the loss of financial support as more and more Fereldens took up arms against their oppressors. The Duke returned to Val Royeaux, and the estate began to degrade. Finally, the governess came up with an idea, a way to save the household, and their young mistress. She started offering sanctuary to any unwanted child of the nobility, offering to care for these lost ones, she offered both protection and secrecy, in exchange for the nobles' support, given the… _appetites_ of the Ferelden court in those difficult times, five other children quickly joined the household, all born of noble fathers, all born to those who wished them hidden from sight. They became the girl's brothers and sisters. There was not even a drain on the household's resource, since the children's parent offered the governess coin to keep their…"mistakes" safe yet hidden. It was not an arrangement spoken of in polite company, but it served a valuable purpose.

 _Thus…the legacy of the Forgotten Estate was born._

As Orlais' power in Ferelden dwindled, the estate continued to gather, more and more children. Orlesians fled abandoning their Fereldan born lovers, many with children. Most of those children found their way to the Estate, and the Governess cared for every single one. As the Duke's daughter grew older, she took a more active hand in the children's welfare, by the time her governess died of natural causes, the girl had over two dozen forgotten children living with her. Being unable to have any children of her own, she tended to these poor unfortunates, the lost and forgotten, and through them, her private coffers swelled. By the time that King Maric took the throne, the Forgotten Estate was already and institution in Ferelden, the wealthy paid the girl well to see to their children, and at the same time for her silence of who had birthed them. The few that didn't pay were blackmailed by her, they would see to their children's futures, or she would end theirs. By that time, the woman had enough pull with the nobles that none dared oppose her. She knew too many secrets, secrets left best in the shadows.

And so the duke's daughter prospered, in time she even took on a title for herself, even though her father would never have endorsed it.

She called herself the Duchess and none of the nobles in Ferelden did anything to move against her.

She knew too much, and that scared many of them.

For almost forty years the Duchess had tended to her flock. The forgotten children of many nobles, their lives hidden away to protect their highborn parent, slowly, the Duchess earned the respect of the highborn; they respected her discretion, and her willingness to hide what they had done.

They came to see the service she offered as not only acceptable, but necessary as well.

She kept the children not only safe but inline as well. No noble wanted some bastard son or daughter appearing out of nowhere and challenging them for their holdings. The Duchess did not allow that, she directed the children to more… _acceptable_ pursuits. The boys often were sent to Denerim to serve in the city guard. The girls, having been taught the ways of court, served as handmaidens in both Ferelden and Orlais. Once there, they provided their former guardian with information that she would occasionally sell to the highest bidder. She stayed away from state secrets of course, but the various intrigues of the nobility that was more than fair game. There were few people who had anything bad to say about the Duchess and her methods, in spite of her dabbling in their secrets. She tended not only to the children, but keep the peace as well.

Few in Ferelden could ask for more.

The Forgotten Estate continued to see to its charges, even during the Blight. Far from the marching path of the Darkspawn horde, the Duchess and her "children" escaped the worst of the fighting. Neither Loghain nor those opposing him made any move against her, she had always remained neutral in the squabbles of the nobles, and that kept her safe from the civil war.

That did not mean she was above helping either side if the price was right of course. No, the Duchess understood the value of coin, and just how far nobles would go to keep their secrets.

That knowledge served her well, and so she survived the worst of the Blight unscathed, and the Forgotten Estate remained open to all.

And so, the Duchess tended to her children, and took care of her estate. Much as she always had. Visitors were few, and those that did come only did so to take away the children who had grown to adulthood in her care, or to drop off a new one, one in need of her love and affection.

Six months before King Alistair met with Mister Wilbur Rich all that changed.

It was a bit of a surprise when Bann Esmerelle showed up at the door of the Forgotten Estate. The duchess knew of her of course, the Bann of Amaranthine was known in most social circles in Ferelden. The duchess might not have been allowed in those circles, but that did not mean that she was not kept informed.

Now…the Bann had come to her. She _needed_ something.

The Duchess had smiled.

She was always happy to help…

…For the right price…of course.

IOI

"We must face facts that Anora Mac Tir will never leave Fort Drakon," the Bann said pacing before the Duchess' hearth. The woman herself, now a woman in her fifties, sat in her rocking chair, listening intently. Though she had finally gone gray, her mind was as sharp as ever, and she yet still retaining some of the beauty of her youth.

Her best years might have been behind her, but that did not mean that she was done.

No, she was not.

Not by a long shot.

She smiled slightly as she sipped her tea.

Esmerelle turned to face her.

"Those who supported the Queen have been left rudderless. Those that still believe in our cause are trying to hold it together, but without someone to give them direction…

The noble shook her head.

"We can no longer tolerate such things, leaving matters in such a state. Your country needs your help again, my dear."

Esmerelle smiled.

"It needs you."

The Duchess snorted with amusement.

"I've never been called a patriot, Your Ladyship. Only the lives of my children matter to me, but still…you did pay in advance for this meeting."

The older woman smiled.

"The least I can do is hear you out."

Esmerelle gave her a cool look. Yet still, she managed to hold her tongue, she still desired the Duchess' aid.

She would not get that by insulting her host.

"Our… _cause_ …it requires a figure head. We need someone with a powerful name, but charming enough to win the support of the rabble and the royal court. We need someone who can be directed to bring Ferelden back to where it needs to be, but is still willing to trust our advice, to let us…guide them where they need to go."

The older woman nodded.

"I see," she said, "Still I do not see where I fit into your plan, Milady. After all, I'm merely a harmless old spinster lady, caring for those who society has forgotten."

The Bann pinned her with an icy glare. She was not in the mood for the older woman's games. The duchess was no fool, everyone knew that. This…innocent act was starting to grate on Esmerelle's nerves.

Still, she held her temper…mostly.

"Where you fit, Duchess," she began, "Is that many of your forgotten ones are now the only heirs to great households. So many of the powerful in this country died in either the Blight or the Civil War, now their estates stand empty, just waiting for an heir to take them up again."

The Bann smiled.

"Your children…they…they maybe bastards, but…"

They **are** _noble_ bastards," the old woman interrupted.

The Bann nodded; pleased that the old woman saw where she was going with this.

She drew closer to the woman, a cruel smile on her face.

"I don't suppose that any of children here have MacTir blood, do they?" she asked.

IOI

Again the Duchess chuckled. She wondered when that little question was going to be asked.

Sadly, the Bann would be disappointed.

"Alas," she began, "I'm afraid not. Teyrn Loghain was not the type to engage in such _dalliances_ , not when he knew the results, and even if he was, he would never have left a child with me, knowing who my father was and all."

The older woman pursed her lips.

"And before you ask, neither good King Maric nor his son visited me either."

The Duchess sighed heavily as she shook her head.

"Poor little Alistair," she cooed, "If only his father had saw fit to bring the boy to me. I would have made sure he was prepared for the life he is leading now, made sure that he knew his proper place."

The Duchess pouted.

"I would not have squandered the boy's future by giving him to the chantry, no matter what that tart Arlessa Isolde said."

For a moment a flicker of hate flashed through the old woman's eyes. She had no love for proper Orlesian nobles, despite her origin. She never truly forgave her father perhaps, or maybe she simply hated the man's Orlesian wife.

Whatever the reason, her anger remained.

Still, she was not one to dwell on grudges, not when there was still work to be done.

She once again brightened with a smile.

"Oh well," she said, "it seems the poor boy will have to push on without his Duchess' guidance, such a pity."

The Bann frowned

"Indeed," Esmerelle hissed, clearly not pleased to hear that she came all the way here for nothing.

Yet still, the Duchess continued to smile.

"I have no MacTir or Theirin children here, dearie, but that does not mean that all is lost."

She smiled eagerly, and rang a small bell on the arm of her rocking chair.

The door behind them opened, a young man with fierce cold blue eyes, and blonde hair regarded the two women coldly.

"Yes, Milady," he purred.

"Jesper," dear boy," she said, "Would you please go and fetch Lorelei."

She smiled at the Bann.

"There is someone here who will want to meet her."

The boy nodded curtly, and went off to carry out his Lady's orders.

The Duchess turned back to her guest.

"Jesper is a good lad," she said, "A loyal lad; you should take him with you when you go. He will keep my little Lorelei safe."

Bann Esmerelle's brow furrowed.

"Lorelei?" she asked, "who is this Lorelei?"

The Duchess' smile widened.

"Fourteen years ago, Your Ladyship," the woman began, "Your liege lord, came to see me. He had a… _problem_ he wished would go away."

The woman sipped her tea.

"I did what he asked, but time has proven that poor Rendon made a mistake. From what I have seen, my dear Lorelei is far more…competent then any of the Arl's other children."

The Duchess' face turned predatory.

"She is my diamond in the rough, Milady, and like all diamonds, if treated properly, she can cut as well as any good blade."

The old woman leaned back in her chair, her smirk undeniable now.

"The girl will more than serve your purpose, trust me, how could she not?"

The Duchess chuckled.

"After all…she is a Howe."

IOI

Later that night, Lorelei returned to her bed in the Duchess' estate for the last time. She gathered up what few belongings were hers and hers alone.

She frowned at the small bundle, barely enough to fill a small purse, but still…what was here was hers.

She would not part with it.

She had been nervous when she had first been brought before the Bann, how could she not? The Bann of Amaranthine was so powerful, so glamourous!

Lorelei felt like a bumpkin by comparison, especially in her thread bare dress, and messy red gold hair.

She had stood in the center of the room while the Bann examined her, dissecting her with her cold eyes. The Duchess sat in her chair, saying nothing.

"She is a bit…gawky," the Bann said coldly.

"Give her time, Your Ladyship," the Duchess cooed, "She will grow into exactly what you need."

Lorelei smiled slightly.

The Duchess had always believed in her.

Always.

She had excelled in both dance and needlepoint. The duchess, who could speak three languages herself, tutored Lorelei personally. Now the girl could speak not only the King's tongue, but Antivan and Orlesian as well. The Duchess had summoned back two of her former charges. One was a young man skilled in mathematics and philosophy. The young woman had been trained in herbalism and poisons.

Lorelei smiled.

She had discovered she had had a talent for poisons, and for finding interesting ways of getting them where they needed to go.

The girl giggled slightly at the memory.

The duchess had been more than pleased.

She was not sure why the old woman had taken such an interest in her, not when she had so many children vying for her attention. Lorelei had never seen herself as anything special. She was smart, she knew that, but that was not enough to warrant such good will from the woman who had been like a mother to her.

She knew many of the children were jealous of her, but also knew that not a one would dare do anything to harm her. Several of the boys here had taken a shine to her early on, and would do almost anything if it meant she favored them with the simplest smile or glance. Jesper, one of the oldest boys here, kept the others in line. He also favored Lorelei.

It was a favor she had always nurtured, and in return Jesper had kept her safe.

It was an excellent arrangement.

Now…now she would not have to worry about that anymore.

She was finally leaving.

Tears of sadness filled her eyes, even as she giggled with excitement.

She…she still could not believe it.

Her mind was awhirl.

"Do you know who you are child?" the Bann had asked.

"Lorelei, Milady," she murmured shyly.

The Duchess had chuckled at that response.

The Bann stood a little straighter.

"You are much more than that, child," she said coldly, "You are the Daughter of Rendon Howe, the Teyrn of Highever, the Arl of both Denerim and Amaranthine."

The Bann sighed.

"Your father is dead, dear; he died without issue, no viable heir. His family is in jeopardy."

She took the girl's chin in her hand, forcing her to meet her eyes.

"Your family is in jeopardy."

Lorelei blinked.

She…she…

 **Oh Maker!**

"Am…am I the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Denerim? Is it all mine?

Her eyes lit up.

"Is Highever **mine**?!"

The Bann smiled.

"Not yet child," she purred, "But if you listen to me, it will be, all that you desire will be yours."

Lorelei's head spun.

Amaranthine.

Denerim.

Highever.

All…all of it would be hers, HERS!

She giggled nervously.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

Esmerelle smiled.

"For now, all you need to do is trust me child."

Lorelei nodded.

The Bann smirked.

"Just trust me."

IOI

Lorelei scooped up the last of her belongings. She took one final look around her, at the room that had been her world since she was a baby.

She smiled slightly.

The time had come to finally leave the cradle, and find what was waiting for her in the world outside, the whole wide wonderful world.

She giggled again.

She could not wait until it was all hers. She…

"Lori?"

A tiny voice drew her back to reality; she smiled slightly at the bed closest to hers.

"It is me Tilda," she purred, "Go back to sleep."

She heard sniffling.

Frowning Lorelei went to her side.

She had always been fond of Tilda. She had helped care for the four year old since she had first been brought here as a baby.

She sighed.

Tilda would be one of the few children here that she would actually miss.

The girl sniffled as she sat down at her side, her to brown pigtails standing out against the white pillowcase, her brown eyes red from barely contained sobs.

"What is wrong Tilda," she cooed.

The girl shivered.

"Dark Lori, so dark."

Lorelei gave her a wan smile.

Poor little Tilda.

She had yet to lose her fear of the dark.

Often she had crawled in bed with Lorelei, seeking comfort when the Duchess was asleep. The older girl did what she could for her, but now…she would not be here to help anymore.

Lorelei's frown deepened.

Poor Tilda.

"Seep with you?" the girl cooed.

Lorelei sighed.

"Not tonight, honey."

The child whimpered.

Lorelei brushed her cheek.

She gave her a wan smile.

"Would you like me to make the light?" she asked.

The girl sniffled and nodded.

Lorelei almost sighed with relief.

The light was the one trick she could do flawlessly every time. It had been something she had mastered as a child, and had used it many times since.

It always had made her feel better.

It always made Tilda feel better.

She leaned in and kissed the girl's forehead.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

Tilda nodded and obeyed.

Lorelei raised her hand; she made a fist and concentrated.

Light she thought.

Let it come.

She opened her hand, and…smiled with pleasure.

It was such a little thing, but it never failed to give her pleasure.

A small ball of blue light shimmered in her hand, not bright enough to wake the others, but just enough to chase a child's fears away.

She let the ball float down next to Tilda's head. The girl looked up at her smiling.

Lorelei smiled back.

"There," she cooed.

Tilda reached up and hugged her.

"Tanks Lori," she murmured.

"Your welcome."

"Night, Night," he child cooed.

"Good night," Lorelei replied.

The older girl rose from the bed, adjusting her belongings on her back. She took one last glance around the room.

She sighed.

 _I will never see this place again_ , she thought.

She was not sure how she knew that, but did not doubt for a moment that it was true.

She paused, thinking about the Duchess' final words to her, their final goodbye.

They will never give you what you want child.

She set her mouth into a grim line.

If you want something, you will have to take it.

Lorelei nodded

It was good advice, she could not deny that.

She thought about all the children here, why they were here.

She thought of Denerim, of the adventure waiting for her in the capital. So many things awaited her fine clothes, valets, and fabulous meals, everything that was hers by right, all that was her legacy as a member of House Howe.

She frowned.

She also thought of those that had murdered her father, the Bann said that they had all profited greatly from her father's death, that they were laughing and celebrating that victory.

Her fingers twisted into angry fists.

They would not be laughing long.

She would reclaim everything that had been stolen from their family. She would reclaim her birthright. She was the last of the Howes.

She would not let her family fade away. She would see it restored. She would see it made great.

She slipped out of the room, out of the Estate. Bann Esmerelle's coach was waiting, the Bann smiling in greeting.

Lorelei smiled back.

The world beckoned.

How could she not follow?

Look out Denerim, she thought with a pleased smile.

Ready or not…

Here I come!


	14. Reactions

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone!**

 **Chapter 14: Reactions**

Summer passed quickly into fall, and soon…winter began reaching out with its icy fingers, looking to squeeze the kingdom of Ferelden…

For King Alistair and the royal court, the winter of 9:31 was a time of change.

For the second time, Orlesian supplies, that would keep the country going during the winter, began to flow into Ferelden. Ships and caravans carrying enough food and fuel for another cold winter soon stocked both the cities and the refugee camps that still dotted northern Ferelden. Nathaniel Glass, his own power strengthened by his relationship with Chancellor Eamon, met little resistance in arranging this latest shipment of goods. Many of the nobles ranted about it of course, but none could deny the need. Ferelden was still a long way from being able to feed its own people, the Blight having destroyed many of the farms in the Hinterlands.

The needs of the people needed to be tended to; even the most jaded noble had to admit that.

Alistair acknowledged the arrival with thanks, but recognized that becoming dependent on the Empire for its foodstuffs was not the best way to keep his country going. Eventually the Orlesians would likely see their recovery as a weakness, something that the ambitious could exploit, or demand some kind of tribute in payment….

Their respect at ending the Blight so quickly would only go so far…and when that respect ended…

Things would likely get…complicated.

It was important that they not allow that to happen, while at the same time not insult the Empress.

Which was perhaps why he so embraced Bridget Glass' latest discovery. The girl had come up with an idea that was both inventive and intriguing. He saw her discovery as a chance to get out from under a possible enemy's crosshairs.

What he got…was a firestorm, and it had begun so simply.

Great things did occasionally have small beginnings.

During the course of her research, Bea had managed to discover several edible plants that had proved… _resistant_ to the taint. Plants that could grow when properly nurtured in slightly tainted soil, without risk of infection. These were plants that could survive in soil that had not been directly tainted by the passing darkspawn horde.

Also, in the course of her work she had discovered several wild flowers that seemed to have a positive effect when planted in tainted soil, they became more dangerous, possessing a toxin that could be harmful, but in creating, they leeched the taint out of the tainted ground. It did not completely cleanse the land, but it offered a chance to take back at least some of the land affected by the Archdemon and its minions. The scar of the horde would remain, she could do nothing about that, but her discoveries offered a chance to get the surrounding farmlands up and running again.

She had offered a chance to give the refugees some hope, and make their nation not so dependent on foreign goods.

She brought this discovery before the court. Everyone knew who her father was at this point, so the fact that it was coming from her made this discovery more believable. Here was the daughter of Orlais' greatest friend in Denerim offering her country a chance to heal more quickly from the Blight, while at the same time becoming a more independent nation.

The king had nodded as she finished her report. Bea had curtseyed and fell back.

Alistair was pleased, but alas he was in the minority.

There were more than a few on the court, who were not.

Some of the nobles did not trust this discovery. They thought this was an attempt by the Glass family to increase their prestige in the capital.

Then the Chantry weighed in the on issue. Mother Allison was not pleased to see a scholar outside the chantry being listened to with such respect.

The outspoken priest was not afraid to let them all hear about it.

For some time now the Chantry in Orlais had tolerated Empress Celene's University, her attempt to take learning outside the governance of the clerics.

The chantry had no desire to see such a state of affairs start to take root here. They were the guides of the masses.

They had no desire to see the so called "sciences" gain a foothold in Ferelden.

"Knowledge without faith is a dangerous thing," the mother declared, "How else can we trust that it is used wisely? How can we trust it at all?"

Bea had been angered by the woman's accusation.

"My work speaks for itself," she said, "I **dare** any chantry scholar to look at my evidence and tell me I'm wrong!"

The priest had given her an icy glare.

"It is not your evidence, my child" the cleric replied, "It is your lack of humility! That you believe that you can undo the Maker's judgement with a few flowers!"

The scholar threw up her hands.

"What would you have our people do, Your Reverence? Would you have our people pray over the soil, and **hope** it gets better?

Bea shook her head.

"Rubbish," she snorted.

"Heresy!" the mother shouted.

Bea almost laughed.

"Is it heresy to try and make Ferelden strong again? We cannot simply hope for the best. In Orlais, clerics have been using prayer for years to try and cleanse the western approach, it hasn't worked."

The scholar shook her head.

"Our people must act. We must act. Prayer alone will not make the farmer's crop grow!"

"Insolent!" the Mother snarled.

"No," Bea replied, "Honest!"

Ambassador Petra stepped in then, trying to calm the two women. She volunteered to have the Circle examine the young lady's research, but Mother Allison rejected that too.

She would not trust such an important issue to the Circle.

Petra fell silent, but she was now glaring at Mother Allison.

Slighting the Circle was never a good idea.

The Orlesian ambassador spoke out against Bridget's findings as well, but most thought that was more about protecting Orlais' claim to being the center of the scholarly world over the true merits of the work.

The Nevarran spoke in support of Lady Glass and the Circle, but this was likely because he wished to oppose his Orlesian opposite. Sometimes it seemed that if the Orlesian said the sky was blue, the Nevarran Ambassador would say it was green just to spite him.

While this argument took place, both Nathaniel Glass and Chancellor Eamon watched King Alistair's response closely.

Alistair, who normally grew nervous or bored when the court bickered, was not only awake, but interested in the debate. He kept a close eye on Mother Allison, just in case the cleric decided to more than simply shout at the Lady Bea.

More often than not, the king's gaze seemed fixed on the scholar, a mixture of amusement and possible admiration radiated out from him.

Eamon, who had watched the boy grow up for a time, recognized the signs.

The king…he…he seemed… _pleased_ by Bea's fire, and her willingness to stand up to the fiery Mother Allison.

He looked on her with respect.

He Chancellor glanced at Ser Nathaniel Glass; the man did a good job of hiding a pleased smile.

He noted the Chancellors regard, and then…finally did smile.

The two men nodded.

 _It was, at least, a start._

IOI

Rumor quickly spread of the Lady Bea's discovery. Rumor quickly led to wild accusations and here say. Rumors quickly spread about her, personally. One rumor accused her of being an Orlesian spy, trying to corrupt and kill the common folk of Ferelden. Another claimed that she was secretly a mage, and could not act without risking the ire of the chantry, which was why Mother Allison opposed her so vehemently. A third looked at her as the king's latest mistress that he let her say that she knew such things just to keep her happy.

Those people said she was nothing to get worked up about.

She was simply the king's whore.

Mother Allison might have had a hand in spreading that last rumor, for no other reason than to keep the nobles from getting behind her plan. From her holdings in Amaranthine, Bann Esmerelle supported the chantry clerics, gathering their favor. While in Denerim, Lorelei Howe spoke in support of the king and his pet scholar, garnering favor from the king's allies in the capital.

Together, the two women had the support of both sides, and none were the wiser for it.

Lorelei, who had been introduced to Denerim as Bann Esmerelle's distant cousin who had been fostered in Antiva, had a talent for such things. If anyone questioned why she would oppose her own family, she would claim to take them into her confidence, saying that the Bann secretly supported the king, but for now, given the strength of the clerics in Amaranthine could not speak her true heart, at least not yet.

Most of the nobles bought that story, or perhaps it was simply because they wished Lorelei's favor, slowly the girl was starting to grow into a beautiful young woman.

Few men would deny wanting her favor.

Personally, Lorelei found it boring.

She wanted to tell the world who she really was. She wanted to climb to the top of Fort Drakon and shout it to the heavens. Bann Esmerelle advised caution. The enemies of the Howe family in Denerim were many.

The girl needed to be careful.

She was the last hope for her noble family.

She told Lorelei of her half-brother and sister, Nathaniel and Delilah Howe. Nathaniel was now a grey warden, beholden to the very people who had murdered their father. Delilah was a disgrace, having dallied with a common merchant, and gotten her belly filled with his brat.

The Bann had shaken her head.

They are not true Howes dear," the Bann had said, "they abandoned their noble duty."

She smiled then.

"It is up to you now, to honor your father's memory…to save your family.

Esmerelle kissed her forehead.

"It is all up to you.

Lorelei had nodded. Her confidence bolstered by the Bann's kindness and regard.

She would not fail her father.

She would save the family name.

IOI

Before the first snow flew, more scholars began to arrive in Denerim, seeking shelter from the chantry's wrath. Several were from Orlais, their discoveries, or lack of discoveries having angered their noble patrons.

They now sought shelter in Denerim, much to the chantry's chagrin.

Alistair had been befuddled by the new arrivals. Mathematicians, theologians, surgeons, and historians, they had all come seeking his aid and patronage.

Not all had discoveries to offer, some were radicals, preaching ideas and willing to go to any lengths to support them, others were quacks, hoping to find dupes for their own brand of science.

A few of these scholars were scooped up by nobles, hoping to present the king with something of value, the others were left either preaching in the streets, or simply trying to survive. The chantry priests leaned heavily on these, and more than a few Templars were eager to see these men and women arrested for heresy.

The King, having had a hand in starting this, recognized the need handle this matter, but recognized that he did not have the necessary skills to decide these cases.

Chancellor Eamon, in the end, came up with a solution.

He suggested the creation of a committee, a group to hear these men and women's out on a case by case basis. The committee would be made up of not only learned men and women, but also chantry priests, so that clerics could not claim that they were being left out of the process.

The last part had been Ser Nathaniel Glass' idea.

"It could help diffuse the situation, Your Majesty," he said, "While at the same time, the rest of the committee will prevent the Mothers from rejecting every scholar out of turn.

Alistair had nodded he saw the value in that.

He knew from personal experience how extreme some chantry priests could be.

When it came time to choose who would lead this committee, both the Chancellor and Ser Glass supported the latter's youngest son.

In their eyes, Quentin Glass was the best candidate.

The boy had grown up close to his younger sister; he respected her discoveries, and was willing to listen to new ideas. The boy had already charmed several members of the Royal Court.

There was no one better to handle such a matter, both Chancellor Eamon and his father agreed.

In the end, Alistair accepted their decision.

Quentin Glass would be elevated.

Bea was not idle while all this was going on. She published a small pamphlet on the benefits of her work, and explaining the results of several of her experiments.

She even went so far as offering cuttings of plants to Bann Shianni, for the Denerim Alienage. The elves had lost much during the closing days of the Blight.

The scholar wanted to give something back.

At first she had found no one willing to offer up the money to get her work published. The more Conservative nobles feared the chantry's wrath. She could have gone to the king, but she feared the nobles would merely say she was using his good will to color the results of what she had discovered. When she finally did find someone willing to help, they agreed to, but only if their name was kept out of it, if they could remain anonymous.

Bea had accepted those she did not entirely understand why.

"Trust me, Your Ladyship," Wilbur Rich said with a smirk.

"It is for the best."

And so time passed and winter drew closer. King Alistair settled in, hoping for a warm winter, and better tidings in the New Year.

Still the plots and plans of others swirled around him, some benign others malignant.

As the feast of Satinalia drew near, he found himself ensnared in one. This one masterminded by his Chancellor and Ser Nathaniel Glass.

It was not entirely, a disagreeable experience. Though it would have repercussions…

…for Everyone.


	15. The Ball Rolls

**Chapter 15: The Ball Rolls**

The King of Ferelden had faced many deadly foes.

Demons, dragons, darkspawn, and a host of many more dangerous creatures had fell beneath his blade. He had faced them all with the grim determination of a true warrior, or at least that is what the stories said.

Alistair knew that the truth was a bit more complicated.

Many of those fights he had survived only because Kallian had been leading them and as far as grim determination went well…

Was resisting the urge to soil his drawers considered grim determination? He was not quite sure.

Whatever the threat, he had at least had his blade and shield to help him survive, this latest challenge well…

It was not the kind of battle that someone brought a sword and shield to, even though it might have been a good idea seeing how things had been going lately.

His heart pounded, his hands felt sweaty even though he knew it was stupid.

Maker…he hated, HATED, even the idea of trying to talk about this, but what choice did he have?

Time was running out.

He glanced over at Bann Shianni. They had just left his office and were on the way to get some lunch in the royal dining room. He could usually count on Kallian's cousin to be honest when something was bothering him.

He really needed that honesty now, but how to introduce the subject? He…he…

He snorted.

Maker he was really bad at this?

Shianni glanced over at him.

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" she asked.

"No," he said quickly, "No…not wrong exactly, but not right either, it…it is all kind of messed up…I…I…"

He swallowed hard.

Maker's breath, why couldn't he just spit it out!

And so he did.

"WhoareyoutakingtotheSatinaliaBall?"

The words came out in a gush. They all ran together and sounded like some weird animal sound.

The Bann stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.

"What?" she said.

Alistair cleared his throat, loudly, trying very hard to get back on track.

Nicely done, he thought, just blurting it out in a single breath!

Still…it could have been worse; he could have done it to someone who wasn't one of his best friends.

He sighed took a deep breath and tried again.

"I said," he began, trying to keep his voice slow and even.

"Who are you taking to the Satinalia Ball?

Shianni's ears twitched, she looked at him suspiciously.

He swallowed hard again.

 _Great,_ he thought.

 _Now she is going to think I'm some drooling lecher._

"Why," she said tilting her head curiously.

"Are you asking _me_ to accompany you?"

The King's heart jumped in his throat.

"NO," he said quickly, "I would never ask that."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Not that there is anything wrong with you of course," he said managing a nervous laugh, "I mean who wouldn't want to go with you, not that I want to…it…it is just…"

His tongue failed him; he was blushing now he just knew it.

Shianni was looking at him as if he had dragons crawling out of his ears.

"Um…um…"

He swallowed hard again.

 _Say something stupid._

He gave her a sheepish grin.

"Please stop looking at me like that?"

Finally she snorted, her lips parted into a sly grin.

She forced back a laugh, but only just barely.

"My cousin was right," she said, "You are hilarious when you're nervous."

The King frowned.

"Were you just teasing me?" he asked.

"I couldn't help it," she said with a nod, "You're far too easy a target."

He shook his head, a sheepish grin on his face.

Kallian used to say that.

"You know. I think there is some law about mentally torturing your king."

The elf shrugged.

"There probably is," she agreed, "But I doubt you would choose to use it. If you did, who would you have lunch with when Arl Teagan is away?"

Alistair nodded.

 _That would indeed be a problem._

She once again began walking towards the dining hall.

Alistair groaned and followed suit.

Kallian's cousin had gotten to know him well over the last few months, too well in fact.

He shook his head.

He wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad about that.

He just managed to catch up with her. She was still smiling over her small victory.

It did not make it any easier to push on.

"You did not answer my question," he said.

The elf shrugged.

"That's right, I didn't. I…"

She refused to meet his gaze, if he was not wrong; she might have been blushing a bit now.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I'm…I'm not very comfortable around…certain people, not after…well…after that business during Kallian's wedding."

She gave him a pained look.

"So…um…let's not talk about this anymore okay?"

Alistair almost cursed out loud.

 _He was such an insensitive_ _ **ass!**_

All of Denerim knew how Lord Vaughan Kendals died, what he had done just before he had died. Shianni's role in that had always been downplayed at court, but…

He still knew.

Kallian had told him.

She had needed to talk about it one night in camp, right before they had chosen to become lovers. She said she wanted him to understand why she was so…hesitant in the beginning. Why she had been so slow in returning his affections.

She had told him everything, and…he had more than understood.

Poor Kallian and poor Shianni.

And now here he was bringing up old wounds.

 _How very nice of him._

He was about to apologize openly when the Bann gave him a wan smile.

"Besides, Your Majesty," she said, "You have already had **one** woman from my family. I don't think it is fitting that you have another."

He ducked his head and blushed anew.

He took that she was still teasing him as a good sign.

At least she was still willing to talk to him.

"You are evil," he grumbled, "You know that right?"

She smiled broadly.

"So I have been told."

IOI

Shianni pursed her lips, ever since taken up the title of Bann she and Alistair had rarely spoke of anything outside of business. When they did speak it was about Kallian, sharing stories and the like, mourning someone they had both loved, as was proper.

This question about the Ball, it had come out of nowhere.

Her curiosity had been peaked she could not deny it.

Now she wanted to know why?

"Is something bothering you about the Ball?" she asked.

Alistair ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"I think a better question is," he began, "What isn't bothering me about the ball."

The king shook his head.

"We did not have one last year, it seemed…inappropriate with Denerim in such a state, still rebuilding and all, but this year…"

He sighed.

"I can't duck it this year. Everything has been planned. The preparations are made, and everyone is going to be there. "

The King frowned.

"Everyone is going to expect me to be there."

Shianni's ears twitched.

She still did not see what the problem was. They had had dances all the time in the Alienage. It wasn't like it was some blood soaked battlefield or something…

Then she remembered who she was dealing with, what the type of people served on the royal court.

She frowned slightly.

Perhaps Alistair did have a reason to be worried.

They passed a large group of giggling girls, noble daughters all. They all bowed to their king as the two passed by, but Shianni still caught one of them watching them, far closer than she should have been…

The elven Bann's eyes narrowed.

She recognized the girl. The one with the red gold hair, the leader of this pack of noble she-wolves, the Lady Lorelei, Bann Esmerelle's…what was she? The Bann's cousin or niece, she could not remember which.

It must have been a distant blood relation however; the girl didn't look anything like the Bann.

What she could remember was that the girl had taken the court by storm. Esmerelle, who Shianni considered a major rival at best, a hated enemy at worst, had been introducing the girl to everybody, and so far, the girl had charmed everyone she had met. Even Lord Eddelbrek, another of the Bann's rivals, had been taken in by the girl's act, even going so far as inviting the girl to dine with his family here in the capital.

And yes, she was sure that the girl's attitude was indeed an act. She spoke up in support of the king and his policies, and yet travelled with a pack of the King's rivals as her friends. She had often heard Lorelei and her minions giggling as they put down this noble or that. Usually right before something…unforeseen happened to them. Shianni herself had not been under the girl's gaze yet, but perhaps it was better to take steps before that happened…

Shianni's elven ears lowered slightly. She did not think for a moment the girl was as innocent as she seemed. Perhaps she would mention it to the Chancellor the next time she saw him. Provided he did not know already.

The Lady Lorelei seemed determined to make waves here at court.

Maybe someone should make sure that she was not trying to drown anybody.

For the moment she pushed the Bann's ward out of her mind, Alistair was still troubled by something.

She still wanted to determine exactly what that was.

"If I may ask, Your Majesty," she began, "what exactly is bothering you about the ball?"

The king fidgeted, clearly he was nervous about something, something beyond his usual, I'm not really good at being the king stuff.

"Uh," he began, "Oh Maker save me this is hard. I'm…I'm not really…I don't really know how to act at these things. I'm afraid I'm going to use the wrong spoon at dinner, or say the wrong thing to some foreign ambassador and find us at war a week later."

Alistair frowned.

"I can usually handle court alright, but this…this…social stuff. Part of me would rather be fighting darkspawn then trying to navigate this mess, and even worse…"

He paused.

Shianni waited…

And waited…

And waited…

"I…"

"Yes," she said.

"I…I don't…"

Shianni's eyes narrowed.

Maker's breath it was as bad as trying to talk to Soris!

"Yes," she repeated.

The king sighed.

He murmured the answer.

Even with her elven hearing she could not make it out.

"I didn't catch that," she said.

With a frustrated snort, Alistair pulled her aside out of earshot of any who might be passing by. He glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was listening.

Finally, he told her.

"I can't dance," he said.

Shianni's ears twitched in surprise.

That was it?

Really?

She leaned closer.

"Really?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Not at all?"

The king shook his head.

"It was not like I was invited to the Arl Eamon's parties when I was a boy; often I stayed in the stables, or helped the hound master in the kennels."

Alistair sighed.

"Then I was sent to the chantry, dancing wasn't very big in the abbey. Holidays were usually all about prayer and contrition."

He shrugged.

"I never learned that…court dancing stuff, and with the reconstruction, I never really thought that I had reason to learn it, but now…with the ball coming up. I…I know that someone is going to ask me to dance, and Andraste's save me, I'm going to make an ass out of myself, more than usual…"

He gave her a pained look.

"That is why I'm really not looking forward to this."

Shianni's elven ears twitched in deep thought. She could understand Alistair's problem, she might laugh about it later, but for now she had enough love and respect for him not to embarrass him any further about this.

She did not want him embarrassing himself in front of the nobles, but at the same time, she wanted to protect his privacy too. If they went to any noble and asked for help on this, rumor would start, and then the King would likely be shamed even more.

The Bann's eyes narrowed.

She could just imagine what Bann Esmerelle or Lady Lorelei would make of all this. What they would say about their commoner born king, not in public oh no, but they would get the rumor mill going.

Alistair would be the joke of the nation.

She did not want that.

Shianni shook her head. She was angry at the whole situation.

 _Maker, she hated shemlen politics._

Alistair ran his hand through his hair nervously, looking up and down the hall; several nobles had finally taken notice of them as they passed by.

Shianni led them out of the corner, no point in giving the rumor mill even more grist.

Her mind was working quickly.

"That is why I asked if you were going," he whispered, "If I was your escort, and you claimed that you didn't like dancing, no one would say anything."

Shianni nodded.

That made sense; after all, it wasn't like she was up on all the latest dance steps out of Val Royeaux anyway. She…

Her ears rose as a light went on in her head.

It…it was so simple!

Perfect, really!

Alistair glanced at her.

"What?" he inquired.

Shianni smiled.

The King's brow furrowed.

"I know that look," he said, "Kallian used to get it sometimes. It would usually end with my hair on fire, or having to charge a rank of genlocks."

He looked chagrinned.

"I really like my hair by the way."

The elf glanced over at her king.

"I don't think we're going to need you to do anything **that** dangerous,' she promised, "In fact, I know just the person who can help us with your…problem. Someone who knows all this court fluff, yet at the same time doesn't care about it."

Alistair gave her a suspicious look.

"And who exactly is this sage of noble wisdom?" he inquired.

Shianni smirked.

"Why the girl who you are taking to the ball of course." She said.

Alistair paled.

"And um…who is that…pray tell?"

"Follow me," she smirked.

She turned the corner.

Alistair followed.

They were now heading away from the dining hall.

"Where are we going?"

"To the scholar's labs in the tower." She said.

Alistair's brow furrowed.

"Why would we be…?"

Alistair stopped.

He swallowed hard.

Shianni wasn't staring but she could just imagine the king's blush.

 _Why would we Bea, indeed._

The elf chuckled with amusement.

Sadly, the king did not share in her mirth.

"Shianni." he called after her.

"Yes?"

"Can we stop and talk about this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Come on Alistair," she said.

She thought she heard him whimper, she tried to ignore it.

 _This…it was for his own good._

 _He would thank her for it later._

"Shianni?"

"Come on."

"But I…"

"Yes you can."

"But I sh…"

"Yes you should."

Alistair stopped. Shianni paused, she looked back; just to make sure he was not running screaming back down the halls.

She met his eyes; he looked like she was asking him to confront another Archdemon.

"This is a bad idea," he murmured.

She smiled gently.

"Trust me, your Majesty," she said.

Alistair started after her, slowly, the march of the condemned.

"But…but I…"

Her ears twitched with amusement.

"Trust me."

"But I..."

"Trust me."


	16. Lesson

**Chapter 16: Lesson**

"This one is called the Dowager's Allemande. It is quite popular in Orlais right now, so it will likely be the first dance of the evening."

Alistair stood at loose attention while Bea stood before him. She had, not surprisingly, been a little hesitant to fulfill his request. A dancing lesson was likely not what she had expected when approached by her king, still he was her patron, she had said, that meant that she would do what was needed, no matter how bizarre the request might seem.

He might have been wrong, but he might have detected a slight blush as she had said the last part, he didn't understand why, in the end he let the comment go unmarked.

The scholar had just joined him after changing out of her lab robes into something more… _appropriate_ for what they were about to do.

He smiled slightly.

Her definition of appropriate was… _interesting._

The Lady Glass' hair remained in the tight bun she wore when working, and she had chosen to wear a plain shirt and trousers, not likely something one would see at a formal dance, but since this was only a lesson, and the fact that she intended to show him the man's role in the dance, it was more than acceptable.

Anyone else on the court would likely have called her look unattractive, or at least an attempt to look that way. Alistair didn't see it.

The Lady Glass could not hide her beauty, no matter how hard she tried. Of course, he would not just blurt such a fact out, oh no.

He had no intention of embarrassing the poor girl further.

"It begins like this," she said, "First, a slight bow, then put your hands on your hips, and dip to the right."

Alistair obeyed, but still felt a bit ridiculous.

"Lady Glass?" he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"If I may ask, why would a bunch of Ferelden nobles start a Ferelden ball with an Orlesian dance?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"Because they are _still_ nobles, Your Majesty."

The King smirked.

"I don't think they would let us forget that fact, Lady Glass," He chuckled.

She pursed her lips, pausing mid step. The look she gave him was a familiar one; he had seen it on the face of his various instructors all his life.

He fell silent _immediately._

"Sorry," he murmured.

Bea sighed.

"Ferelden might not like to admit it," she began, "But after almost a hundred years of Orlesian occupation, many of their social norms have taken root in our culture. Our merchants know the exchange rate of Orlesian coin. Some chantries still keep records in both the king's tongue and in Orlesian. Our nobles still crave Orlesian silks and metal work."

She gave him that slight hint of a smile of hers, the barest rise of the corner of her mouth.

"We may not like it, but Orlais and Ferelden are more tightly bound that we like to admit. Maker knows; half the nobles in Ferelden have at least some Orlesian relatives, either by blood or marriage, not that they would openly admit it. My paternal grandmother, the Lady Brigitte, was Orlesian, I'm named for her."

She shrugged.

"Considering all that, it is not surprising that Orlesian dances are so popular in the Ferelden court."

The king smiled slightly.

"When you put it that way, I see your point."

"Good," she said.

His smiled widened.

"But I won't be repeating your argument it around the nobles, they might start calling me a traitor."

Again, that slight smile came to her lips.

He liked that he was able to at least amuse her.

It pleased him.

"That would be wise, Your Majesty."

IOI

Bea was not sure what to make of all this. When the King and Bann Shianni approached her about giving the His Majesty a dancing lesson, she was not sure what exactly to say.

Could she do it? Yes. Both Father and Margaret made sure she was kept appraised of the latest social fads in Orlais, knowing them was necessary, even for a scholar.

Even the University was not completely out of the grand game.

It was for that reason that she likely said yes in the first place, even if the king wasn't her patron, it would not do to see him embarrass himself in front of the royal court.

To the nobles, appearance was everything; she knew that some still harbored…concerns over the King's common blood. They respected his skill as a warrior, but if he could show them that he was equally skilled on the social battlefield…

It would go a long way to putting many minds at ease.

"Now…the next step," she said, "Raise your right leg, kick to the left and take two steps to the right."

He followed her movements. She repeated them, until he seemed comfortable.

She hated to admit it but she was impressed. He caught on to the footwork quite quickly.

"Are you sure you have never danced, Your Majesty? You have an excellent understanding of the steps"

The King smirked.

"Swordplay also requires footwork Lady Glass, if I did not grasp it quickly, I would be quite dead right now."

Bea's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh," she said.

The king shrugged.

"That and I had a lot of practice," he added, "During Templar training if you didn't get the footwork just right you spent the night washing the pots and pans."

He gave her a sheepish look.

"I wasn't the most…dutiful Templar. I was sent to the kitchens more times than I can count, and that's a lot, I can count pretty high."

She fought the urge to giggle, but then, a silent alarm bell went off in the back of her mind.

Bea arched an eyebrow.

 _What exactly was happening here?_

 _Was the King…was he actually…seriously…?_

 _Flirting with her?_

She suppressed a frown.

If he was, then it was seriously not a good idea.

The king had enough enemies right now, getting involved with a member of House Glass, would only add to that list. Father's trade with Orlais was not popular, no matter how necessary it was. On top of that, the Glass family was only a few steps above commoners, or worse…traitors.

The thought made her shudder.

Even she had heard the tale of her Uncle, Bann Keir, the man that had helped murder Moira Theirin, the Rebel Queen. They might have changed their name, but still that stain on their family tree remained.

The court had not forgotten, even if they chose to say nothing.

On the way to the gather of Ladies a few months back, Margaret could not stop talking about what would happen after she caught the king's eye. Her sister had been certain that it would happen, that she would seduce the king and soon find herself not only sitting beside him on the throne, but sharing his bed as well. Margaret had wanted to be Queen, even if it meant being with a man she had never met.

She had never considered what the court would say about such a union. Their family was not loved here in Denerim; too many lords remained from the days of the rebellion.

Any of them, they…they would have been damned before anyone related to House Keir came to the throne of Ferelden. Father knew that, but his ambition still led them back here. It was a grand opportunity sure, but…

The specter of the past remained.

Bea almost shuddered.

The old guard nobles…they were no doubt watching House Glass, and more directly…watching her, which was why she or Margaret could not even consider entering into any kind of relationship with the king.

They would no doubt take steps to prevent it, extreme steps.

Perhaps…even fatal steps.

Bea would do what she could to shield herself from that, and do what she could to protect Margaret as well.

Bea understood, even if the rest of her family did not.

They needed to keep matters between themselves and the king…professional.

Such a pairing would not be good for the Theirin blood line.

Then…there was her recent history, her _argument_ with Mother Allison. She had heard the rumors that had sprung up at court these past few months. Mother Allison's attempt to discredit her work, no doubt, saying she only got the King's patronage was because of a… _attraction_ between them…

She frowned.

… _That…and the rumor that she offered him…_ _ **sexual**_ _favors_.

It was hard enough for a woman to get noticed in the scholarly community. When she did, the fact that she must be using her body to get noticed was the first accusation by jealous rivals. Bea had seen it often enough back at the University, and knew how to fight it. The best way to combat such rumors was not to give them anymore grist, which alas, she was failing miserably at right now. If anyone found out about this dancing lesson, it would only add fuel to the fire.

She knew what some in the chantry called her, the king's plaything…his whore.

The fact that they had never even kissed made the rumors even more ridiculous, but still they existed.

She needed to make sure that they went no farther than that, for both her sake…and the King's…

"Now…this next step is a little tricky."

She demonstrated it, Alistair blinked, he looked…confused.

She did it again.

He still did not seem to grasp it.

She sighed.

"I know it is complicated, but just…watch me…watch my legs."

The king snorted with amusement.

Bea gave him an arched look.

"What?"

"Nothing," he snickered, "It…it is just a first, a woman encouraging me to stare at her legs."

Bea gave him a frosty look.

Alistair laughed nervously.

"I jest, good woman, I jest, please do not kill me!"

She rolled her eyes.

Andraste give me strength, she thought.

Maker, why did he have to do this to her? His Majesty seemed to delight in annoying her, even when she was trying to help him, and yet…yet…

She frowned.

And yet, she could not help but be amused.

She shook her head.

Maker, she must have been mad.

"I think we should get back to work, Your Majesty," she said letting the matter drop.

He nodded, more than happy to do so.

He tried the step, she showed him, it was ugly, but close to what was expected.

She told him to try it again; he did with a bit more confidence.

She nodded.

"The step has to be complex," she said, "Back in Orlais, you are left vulnerable if you do it wrong, a rival could trip you from behind."

Alistair gave her a puzzled look.

"Why would someone want to trip someone during a dance?"

"Because that is how the game is played," she said matter of factly.

He shrugged.

"Orlesian politics are strange," he said with a snort.

"Most would agree," she shrugged, "But anyone in the Empress' court would call them necessary."

Bea crossed her arms in front of her.

"You should probably get used to the idea of them," she added, "It is likely your future wife will be from Orlais. She will no doubt expect you to understand her customs."

Alistair flinched.

Several of the nobles had begun talking about Grand Duchess Florianne of Orlais as a possible bride for the King, provided he not choose one himself.

Alistair snorted.

"I'm sure the nobles will just **love** that."

"It would be a smart political move," she shrugged.

"Maybe," he agreed.

He performed the step she showed him again.

Bea nodded.

The step was a bit rough, but they could practice more later, if the king wished it, of course.

"Now," she said, pushing all thoughts of the King's future marriages out of her mind, "The next step will require a partner."

She stood next to him, their arms almost touching.

She tried not to look him in the eye. He was blushing slightly.

She tried not to herself.

"When we come to this stage of the dance," she said, "You will turn to your partner, bow again…"

They both did.

"And now you will circle to the right, barely touching elbows.

She bobbed slightly and started the circle, the king followed her movements.

"Now you will reverse, turning a half circle to the left, where you will bow again."

They stepped and bowed again.

"Very good, Your Majesty," she murmured.

He chuckled.

"I have a good teacher.

She blushed at his praise.

She coughed. Finally remembering what she had promised herself.

Stay focused, she chided.

Stay professional.

"Reverse, and come back the way you came, bow and…OOFFF!"

The King turned left again when he should have turned right.

He and Bea collided.

She let out a familiar panicked squeal and fell. He tried to stop her but their legs were still tangled.

He managed to get his hand behind her head, to keep her from hitting it hard on the stone floor.

It was his only victory at that moment.

The two of them ended up on the cold stone, him on top of her.

…Both of them staring into each other's eyes.

Neither of them said anything, they just lay there, staring back at one another.

Bea's heart fluttered, she was breathing harder than she should have been.

One moment passed, then another.

Finally, Alistair chuckled.

"Um…hello," he said nervously.

"Hi," she said no longer wishing to meet his eyes.

"Well, um," he said swallowing hard, "This seems familiar."

She managed a nervous laugh, likely now blushing as much as he.

"Yes," she agreed, "But…but less mud."

He laughed nervously.

"There is that, I suppose."

IOI

Alistair tried to untangle himself the best he could. He still felt like a clumsy oaf, but…

Their little fall had not been all bad.

Lady Glass, Bridget, Bea's hair had come out of its bun in the fall, it now cascaded over the stone, a sea of raven black tinged with dark streaks of red, like fire in the night sky.

Her hair, he thought, wearing it down, it was…appealing.

Not that he said that to her.

He scrambled to his feet, and dusted himself off.

"I think that last step needs a little work," he chuckled.

Again she gave him that slight smile.

"To say the least," she said.

He offered her a hand, she took it, and he pulled her to her feet….

And, far too briefly into his arms, she pulled away quickly, but…but…

She swallowed hard, her fingers had brushed his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath his shirt…she…she…

She tried not to think about that, this…this was more than a bit awkward.

Thank the Maker no one had seen this. That would be…

"Should I come back later?"

Bea almost shrieked.

Standing in the doorway, smiling that polite cold smile of his, was Mister Wilbur Rich.

She and Alistair moved five steps away from each other, quickly.

The man continued to smile.

Bea cursed herself a fool!

Rich had helped her recently, giving her money to get her work out to the public, if he drew the wrong conclusion from all this, if he told anyone!

Oh Maker!

She…she was such a fool!

"I…I must go!" she said quickly.

"Wait," the king said, "You don't have to…"

"I…I have an experiment to get back to…good…good day Your Majesty!"

"Lady Glass?"

"Forgive me, good day, Your Majesty!"

She bobbed a quick curtsey and bolted.

She stopped.

Rich was blocking the door.

She fought the urge to push him out of her way. He was still a powerful man, and growing stronger by the day if you believed the talk.

She prayed that he would not make her regret this mistake.

"Mister Rich," she said curtseying again.

"Lady Glass," he purred, stepping out of her way.

She fled as quickly, as quickly as she could without running.

She…she…

Oh Maker!

What had she been thinking!

She was a fool!

She was a complete and utter Fool!


	17. Enemies

**Chapter 17: Enemies**

Alistair watched helplessly as the girl dashed out of the room. He thought about calling her back, but feared that would do more harm than good.

Meanwhile Rich stood polite beside the door, waiting for the King to give him permission to speak.

He glared at the man for making an awkward situation more awkward, but at the same time realized that it wasn't Rich's fault. After all, he had not had any guards outside to make sure that he and the Lady Glass would not be disturbed, and he had asked the man to return to him when he found out more information on what happened at that farm outside of Highever.

The King shook his head.

A single guard could have handled it, could have knocked on the door and alert them to the man's presence, but Alistair had not thought of that, and now…here they were.

He shook his head.

 _Right place, wrong time,_ he thought.

He walked over to Rich, glancing down hall where the Lady Glass had fled. The man held a ledger close to his chest, he still wore the same threadbare coat, but now his shoulders were draped with a fur cloak, not a bad idea considering how drafty the palace could be.

He glanced one final time down the corridor; it seemed he would have to apologize to the lady….again.

He almost chuckled.

 _It was nice to see that his luck with women had not changed._

"She is always running away from me," he murmured as he stared down the now empty hall.

Rich smiled slightly.

"Perhaps the young woman wishes to be chased," he suggested.

Alistair gave him an arched look.

Rich cleared his throat and looked away.

Alistair could have gotten angry, but instead chose to let the matter drop.

The situation could not get anymore awkward if it tried.

He hoped that Rich would do the same.

"Is there something you need, Mister Rich?" he inquired.

The man bowed slightly.

"I have only just returned from Amaranthine, Your Majesty," he began, "As you requested, I followed up on the murder of the would-be conspirators that threatened your reign."

Alistair could almost hear the excitement in the man's voice; clearly he felt he had something juicy to share.

The king sighed.

Who was he deny someone a little pleasure?

"I take it you found something?" he inquired.

Rich's smile widened.

"It was not quite what I expected," he answered, "But it is something of note."

Alistair gestured for the man to walk with him. Rich fell in step beside him as they left the room behind. The King knew he would have to say something to Bridget Glass later, but for now, royal business needed to be tended to.

"What did you find?" he inquired.

"The end of one path, and the beginning of another, I fear," Rich answered.

The king's eyes narrowed. He did not like riddles, and was about to say as much when the other man continued.

"And it ended yet again, at a farm house."

IOI

Wilbur Rich recognized the need to proceed with caution.

The king had only been on the throne less than a year, and yet he found himself surrounded by both enemies and the overly ambitious.

Rich more than understood what that was like. His own…actions over the years had swelled his enemies list to a very large degree. Many of those enemies even now held high ranking positions at court.

He needed to step carefully if he wished to avoid their ire. The king could protect him only so much and that all depended on how useful he could make himself to not only his sovereign but Ferelden as well.

His most dangerous enemy he realized remained Chancellor Eamon. The man did not like him, nor did he accept Loghain's former advisor's place here in Denerim. Rich had slowly begun building a life here, using favors and secrets to gain coin, and help rebuild his business interests. Eamon was watching him; he had no doubt of that. His only people had even discovered some. He came to realize that his every move was watched closely by agents from the palace. All of these agents had direct ties to Redcliffe, and the men who had served there when the chancellor had been Arl.

It was not hard to imagine who they worked for.

Rich was no fool. He knew the Arl had powerful friends, until recently he counted Ser Nathaniel Glass among them. The knighted merchant was never far from the Arl's side in court, and it was not hard to figure out why, and it had nothing to do with Orlesian trade.

That is why he had agreed to back Lady Glass against Mother Allison. It seemed like a good way to stay close to one of his enemies, by making himself and ally of one of the man's children, but…considering what he had just seen…he realized he might have to rethink his whole position on the Lady Glass.

From what he had seen the girl seemed genuinely…affectionate to the King. She was either an excellent liar, or just another innocent caught in her father's web. He would have to move carefully when dealing with her, not to give her father any ammunition to take to the Chancellor, but…but if the girl could be made and ally, and if she did manage to garner the affections of the king…?

Perhaps, just perhaps, Nathaniel Glass did not have to be an enemy.

The whole battlefield might change the line between enemy and ally would blur. The very thought made his blood race. It was liberating, being both predator and prey.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, he recognized that, but still…the rewards.

He smiled slightly.

The rewards were almost too great to pass up.

Rich realized that he would need to be more cunning if he was to survive here. Too many people still saw him as a Loghain supporter, despite the rather…dramatic end to their professional relationship.

Rich's hand drifted to his neck, at night he could still imagine the rope there, feel it constricting. He…he…

He tried not to think about it.

"A few months ago," he began, "A knight of Amaranthine, a certain Ser Tamra was murdered by one of her fellows."

Alistair frowned.

"I heard nothing of this."

"You likely **wouldn'** t have," Rich shrugged, "It was an internal matter in Amaranthine, and therefore fell to the Arlessa to deal with, which meant that the Warden Commander dealt with it when the case came before her in court."

The King having been a grey warden himself likely felt a kinship of sort with the new Arlessa. Rich hoped to use that kinship to his advantage.

"And did she?" the King inquired.

"Yes, though not in a satisfactory manner, at least as far as she was concerned, I suspect. There was little or no physical evidence to hold her killer, a known confederate of the late Arl Howe."

Rich frowned.

"In the end, the Commander ended up having to release the man."

Alistair sighed.

"I take it that was not the end of it?"

Wilbur Rich's smile returned.

"That is putting it mildly, Your Majesty."

"Things got bloody, I take it?"

"You could say that. The Orlesian was not the type to let the matter go, especially after how arrogantly the accused murderer behaved in court, or so I have been told. She began asking questions. Some of which I took it upon myself to answer."

Alistair gave the man a slight smile.

"I find it surprising you would aid an Orlesian, Mister Rich, given your history."

Rich merely chuckled.

"Your Majesty **did** name the woman Arlessa of Amaranthine; I was merely serving the realm, as I have always done."

"I guess I did, didn't I?" The king chuckled, "Lucky me."

Rich smirked but said nothing; he was still not used to dealing with the king's humor.

He did not want to risk offending him.

Finally, Alistair nodded, and gestured for the man to continue.

Rich was more than happy to comply.

"I left nothing to chance," he continued, I travelled to Amaranthine myself to…aid the Warden Commander. She had been looking for information on the conspirators who Ser Tamra had informed her of."

The King frowned.

"I can't imagine she accepted your information at face value, considering your history."

"She likely wouldn't have," the other man agreed, "Which is why it was not me she was doing business with."

Rich gave him a knowing smirk.

"Commander Caron wished to meet with the legendary Dark Wolf of Denerim, the one who had opposed Howe and Loghain so…tenaciously during the dark days of the Blight."

Alistair smiled slightly.

"So…you were the Dark Wolf?"

"As far as the Warden Commander was concerned….yes," Rich said with a nod.

The king chuckled.

Rich's brow furrowed.

"Did I say something amusing, Your Majesty?"

"Ironic," Alistair informed him, "I was rather…close to the last person who wore that name."

He gave the man a sad smile.

"She would have been grateful you used it to serve Ferelden again."

"I'm glad you think so, Your Majesty, anyway to make a long story short, I managed to find out where some of the conspirators were meeting, another old farmhouse if you can believe it. They had planned to pay a cell of Antivan Crows to murder Commander Caron."

Alistair sighed. He knew that there would be some resistance to naming an Orlesian Warden Arlessa of Amaranthine, but he had not expected a murdering plot to take shape so quickly.

The King shook his head.

It was just more blood on his hands, and he did not like it.

"And these conspirators," he said, "The ones who murdered this Ser Tamra, were they the same people who killed your allies outside of Highever."

"Some of them, I believe, I left it to the warden Commander to deal with the traitors. It was her life that they were threatening after all. It also provided me with an excellent test, to see what kind of woman our new Arlessa is."

"Did she perform to your satisfaction?"

"I suppose she did," Rich said with a grim smile. "She took her fellow wardens in and massacred everyone at the farmhouse, the crows, the bodyguards, every noble who was there. I guess Lady Caron was not in the mood for another trial."

The other man shook his head.

"I have heard that wardens can be vicious when they want to be, but…still…I did not expect her to kill them all."

Rich sighed.

"That…was most…unexpected."

IOI

Alistair gave the man a sad look.

He understood how he felt.

Duncan had been like a father to him, he was not only a good warden, but a good man who took mercy on a boy he had no reason to take pity on. Yet, at the same time, he had seen Duncan's dark side. It was the very same dark side that had led his late leader to kill Ser Jory back in Ostagar.

Duncan could be kind, but he could also be a cold bastard when he needed to be. Alistair accepted that.

It was good to know that he could trust the new Warden Commander to do the same. Compassion had its place, but sometimes you had to strike hard and fast.

Duncan knew that, and so did Kallian.

Alistair was still trying to come to terms with that philosophy as well.

"So the conspiracy is done," he said, "We can all just relax and try to move on."

Rich chuckled.

"I fear that it will not be that simple, Your Majesty," he said, "The wardens may have slowed them, but I fear that not all of the conspirators died on that farm. The knights and nobles that were there were not wealthy, certainly not wealthy enough to hire a whole crow cell."

The older man shook his head.

"No, I suspect we have not seen the last of them. If the one who funded this little conspiracy survived, then they will no doubt try again. They will go to ground for a time, but they will be back. Perhaps next time they might even strike at you."

Rich gave him a stern look.

"You need to be careful, Your Majesty. Teyrn Loghain may have been ruthless to his enemies, but he still had a code. These bastards likely supported Rendon Howe, and if they share their former master's lack of scruples they could attack from anywhere."

Alistair sighed.

"I wasn't there when my fellow warden killed Arl Howe, Mister Rich, but I had friends who were. They told me what happened, what they found in dungeons beneath the Arl of Denerim's estate."

The King shivered.

"If these people were confederates of the late Arl of Amaranthine, then I know what to expect of them. I'll do my best to be careful.

Wilbur Rich sighed.

"That is good to hear, Your Majesty. I…I suppose we should be grateful. The Howes were implacable enemies, it is best that that line die out. If any of Rendon Howe's children took up his mantle, it could have been very bad for Ferelden, fortunately, that does not seem to be a problem. Delilah Howe I've been told has married a commoner and her elder brother is now a Grey Warden bound to the order his father tried to destroy."

Rich smiled that cold smile of his.

"Thus ends the legacy of the Butcher of Highever Castle."

Alistair winced.

He had met Fergus Cousland several months ago. The man was a loyal servant of the realm, a servant that had suffered greatly when Arl Howe turned against King Cailan.

Teyrn Cousland had lost almost everything. He had his title, but little else remained of those he had loved. He had lost both his wife and son. His parents had been murdered behind the very walls that should have protected them. Murdered by a man they had called friend. A man they had trusted, a man who had been like an uncle to their children.

The very thought sent a chill down the king's spine.

A man that could do that, well…such a man was capable of almost anything.

He realized that Rich was right.

They were lucky that the Howe family was dead…

Extremely lucky.

He could only imagine what a Howe could do in their weakened country, and it wasn't pretty.

The King pursed his lips.

Let the enemies of the past, stay in the past.

Rendon Howe was dead, and that was that.

Good bye and good riddance.

IOI

Later that night, Alistair went in search of Lady Glass again. He had checked her lab in the tower, but found she was not there.

Next he went searching for her in her quarters in the royal wing.

If she wished for privacy, there was likely no better place in the palace.

He had to admit though, he had been a little surprised that Chancellor Eamon had put the girl up in a room right down the hall from the royal chambers. True it was what was expected when a royal took interest in a scholar, but still…there were so many rooms.

He frowned.

The Chancellor could have put the girl up anywhere, but instead chose to give her lodgings in the royal wing.

It was generous of him, far more than Alistair had ever seen. Eamon had never been cruel, even sending him away to the chantry was better than putting him out in the street.

He wasn't sure what the former Arl of Redcliffe was playing at.

Perhaps it was in his best interest to find out.

But for now, he had an apology to make, a very heartfelt apology.

Rich's presence had scared the girl, which as it turned out was not necessary. The king had asked that the man not go spreading rumors of his dancing lesson all over the palace. Rich, surprisingly, agreed to remain silent.

Alistair smiled. Despite everything he had heard, Wilbur Rich was proving to be steadfast advisor to him, not one to coddle, but one who forced his king to work through problems himself, intervening only if Alistair was too lost to find his way on his own.

The king nodded a pleased expression on his face.

Yes, he needed to do something more for the man.

Eamon would not approve, but…

Alistair frowned.

Sometimes the king needed to take charge.

He needed to do so now.

He knocked on the door to the Lady Glass' room, no one came to the door, and he knocked again…

…still no answer.

He reached down and tried the lock, hoping that Bea wasn't taking bath or something in there.

Would seeing that really be so terrible, an ugly little voice in the back of his head said.

The King snorted, and ignored it.

The Lady Glass…Bea did not need him causing her anymore problems. He would just slip in, apologize and…

He opened the door and walked inside.

He paused, the bile rising in his throat.

He…he…

Oh Maker, he thought.

What had he done now?

Bea's room was empty; her clothes were gone, as were quite a few books, and pieces of science equipment.

He tried calling out her name, but it was no good.

The room was empty.

Bridget Glass was gone, and…

The King almost whimpered.

And…it was all his fault.

He…he…

Oh Maker!

He was sometimes his own worst enemy.

He swore it!

The King sighed.

What was he going to tell the girl's supporters? What would he do with all the scholars still waiting to get in?

He shook his head.

He did not have the slightest idea.

He needed to find Ser Nathaniel Glass; perhaps he could make this right.

Alistair hurried down the hall, back towards the throne room.

This was his mess…

…and he was damn well going to fix it.

One way…

…Or the other.


	18. A Brother's Job

**Chapter 18: A Brother's Job**

It was three days before the Feast of Satinalia when Arland Glass arrived at his family's old home in Waking Seas. He had ridden hard today, hoping to make it home before the weather turned foul. Snow swirled across the road. A light blanket of white draped the land, turning the usually green lands into a realm of black and white.

Arland adjusted his cloak, shivering despite the heavy fur, he was grateful that he had made it here before the snow **really** started falling. If the weather kept up like this he would likely have to wait until morning before making his way to the Denerim.

Hopefully, he would not be making that journey alone, for father's sake at least.

The soldier sighed.

He was a bit surprised when he had received Father's letter. Not the contents so much, but rather who was the focus. Margaret was always seeking the center of social attention. He would have understood had the letter been about her, but surprisingly, it had not been.

May wonders never cease, he thought, at least as far as my youngest sister is concerned.

That was the most surprising thing; Margaret had not even been mentioned.

No, Bea was apparently the center of all this, much to his surprise. Now, both Father and apparently the King were requesting her presence back in the palace.

Arland frowned.

Had it just been father, he might have been tempted to ignore the request, but when the request came with another letter, a letter attached with a royal seal, well…even he had to submit under those circumstances.

No one could just ignore the order of the king.

That did not mean that he had to follow that order blindly however.

The soldier pursed his lips.

He had spent the better part of this journey trying to puzzle out what had happened. He knew a little through rumor and gossip, and what little father had said in the letter, but it was not enough.

He would have preferred hard facts, but did not have enough to make a true judgment.

In the end he just had to trust his father's word, no matter how hard that was.

Here was what he knew. Bea had apparently fled the capital in a huff over something. Father had, of course, not gone into any details, but in this case the matter itself was irrelevant.

His little sister had apparently made a bit of a splash among the nobles of Denerim, apparently causing some issues between the chantry and herself. Bea, ever the fearless scholar, was not the type to back down, even before the chantry. She'd apparently caused some issue, wrote some sort of pamphlet about it, and managed to piss off half the nobles in the capital, and the chantry as well.

Arland chuckled.

Bea never did anything halfway, if even half of what he had heard was true…

Well…he could see why the rest of his family considered such an appearance, as a splash.

A splash that father no doubt wished to profit more from than what he already had, and yes, knowing their father, he had found some way to profit from the chaos. Of course, to do that, he now needed Bea back in the capital as soon as possible, hopefully before the holiday. Since Arland was now on leave from his unit, and had planned on spending it with his family anyway, Ser Nathaniel had asked his eldest son to collect her, and bring her back.

The soldier frowned.

How he was going to do that he was not quite sure. Bea could be as stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be. If she did not want to return, even a king's summons might not be enough. Which led to another interesting question, why was the King writing to her, asking her to come back as well? It had to be his father's doing somehow, but still…still…

Arland shook his head.

What had his sweet baby sister gotten herself into now? Whatever it was, he was sure his father was at the center of it that was usually the way it worked.

He grimaced at the mere thought.

Sometimes he was grateful not to be caught up in his father's schemes, to be away from the man. Bea had been as safe as she could be back in Orlais, but since she had returned, she was once again a pawn in House Glass' power games.

Part of him was tempted to convince Bea to ride to the nearest coast, catch a ship for Val Royeaux, return to the university she loved so much, and never look back. Such actions would displease the king however, and so he pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

Besides, Bea was not a child anymore; she had survived in Val Royeaux, that said something at least.

Bea was not totally innocent of politics, but that did not mean that she deserved to be caught up in whatever it was their father was planning. Why she had not returned to the University as she had planned was beyond him.

He looked up at the House, the roof already covered in a coat of white.

He sighed, his breath coming out as a fine white plume.

Well, if he really wanted to know what was going on, there was only one true way to find out.

He led his horse to the small stable, hoping to get it settled in for the night.

After that, he would have a word with his baby sister.

Hopefully, it would be a…pleasant conversation.

IOI

"Are you sure this is going to work Glass?"

Ser Nathaniel looked up from his latest trade report. Chancellor Eamon stood by the fire in his quarters warming his hands against the cold.

He smiled slightly.

"Have no fear, Your Grace," he said signing the paper with his approval.

"Bea trusts my eldest son above all others, and he will not refuse a royal order. He will bring her back, you can count on that."

Eamon turned away from the fire and poured himself another drink. Glass understood the man's…uncertainty. He had not been pleased himself when he had gotten word from Margaret that Bridget had left the capital. He had feared all his plans had gone up in smoke, and was very tempted to order his youngest to return.

Fortunately, he had been talking with his eldest daughter at the time. She had soothed his temper. Margaret had also made him see how they could use this to their advantage.

After that, he had let the matter stand.

As it turned out, Em was right.

Bea might not have realized it, but she did exactly what they had needed her to do.

Now they just had to bring her back.

Almost two week ago, the king had…politely inquired about Bea to both him, and the chancellor. Eamon had claimed ignorance in the matter while Glass had played it coy. He told the king that Bridget leaving had nothing to do with him. The stress of being caught up in an argument between the scholars, chantry, and mages had worn on the poor girl.

Glass had promised him that she had promised to return before Satinalia.

That seemed to have pleased the king, but that had not stopped him from asking twice more about the girl, the last time, he presented Glass with the letter that Arland now carried. The king had not wished to send it by bird. Glass had promised that his daughter would get it.

He had smiled as he walked away, pleased by how things were going. It seemed that Em had been right after all.

The King has had a taste of Bea's company father, she had said, that he had now gone hungry for a few days will make him desire their next meeting even more.

Margaret had always had a talent for relationships. Though she had yet to marry herself she knew how to play a suitor.

Bea, it seemed, was not entirely ignorant of those games either. Not that he should have been surprised.

Glass sighed.

Bridget had…always favored her Mother over him. Her lips, her eyes, they were all traits she had inherited from her mother, Andraste keep her.

He lowered his quill.

Branwen Glass had been a fine woman, and a good mother, and in her youth, a beauty that had ensnared his soul.

He had drowned in those blue eyes of hers; they were dark pools that ensnared the soul. After barely a day, he had lost his heart. Bea had those very same eyes, and likely the king was feeling their powerful effect.

He smiled slightly.

The king would not escape, what man could?

He rose from his desk and poured himself a drink.

To Bea, he thought to himself, may she find her future assured, good luck to you my girl.

He down his drink quickly with one final thought.

Bring me fortune!

IOI

Arland Glass made his way up the stairs of their small estate. Naya, Bea's elven maid had said that his little sister had not left the room in days, coming out only to dine, or tend to personal matters.

He glanced around the darkened the hall leading to his sister's room, only a single candle on the far wall lighted his way, giving everything a melancholy feel. In Bea's room only shadows were visible, and the weak light from outside. The wind rattled the windows.

He paused before the open door, respecting his sister's privacy, waiting for her invite him in.

"Bea," he called out.

He heard his sister sigh.

"Hello Arland."

Hearing her voice made him relax a little.

At least she had not told him to go away.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked.

"Because I'm feeling sorry for myself," she replied.

Arland fought the urge to laugh.

Bea could be…too literal sometimes. Her response to some might sound melodramatic, but he recognized it for what it was.

His little sister was simply being honest.

He slipped into the room. He found her sitting in an old armchair by the window, staring out into the night.

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sad.

"You look half frozen," she said flatly.

Now, he did chuckle.

"It is winter, Bea."

She nodded and returned to her vigil.

Arland reached into his shirt and pulled out the letter.

"This is for you," he said.

She gave him a curious look when she took it.

"Who is it from?' she asked.

He pointed at the seal.

"See for yourself."

She looked down, seeing the crimson red and Mabari of House Theirin.

She winced at the sight.

"I'm almost afraid to read it." she said sitting it in her lap.

Arland blinked.

"Why?"

She turned to face him, a sick look on her face.

"Because I embarrassed both myself, and His Majesty," she replied.

Arland's brow furrowed.

Father had said nothing of this.

"What happened," he asked her.

Bea shook her head.

He put his hand on hers.

"Bea come on," he murmured, "It's me, remember."

He gave her the same warm smile he had when they were children.

Her lip curled slightly in amusement.

"You know that you can trust me."

Bea rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Fine," she said, "But don't say I didn't warn you."

IOI

After she had finished her tale, Bea slumped back in her chair.

"It was a mistake for me to return to Denerim," she sighed, "I never should have taken the King's patronage, all I have brought him is trouble."

Arland chuckled.

"So the capital's greatest rumor-monger saw you giving the king a dancing lesson," he snorted, "Who cares?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"I do," she hissed, "Maker's breath Arland, it wasn't just about the dance, it…it is everything. Father and Quentin say they support me, but I fear all they want is to feather our nests. The chantry grumbles about my work, challenging me, and spreading lies about me. The mages and the Nevarran ambassador offer me their support, and now the Orlesian Ambassador and the Templars glare at me like I'm trying to ferment rebellion."

She shook her head.

"It is insane," she spat.

Arland shrugged.

"That is politics, Bea, you know that."

Yes, but…I…I…I want…oh Maker, I don't know."

She gave her brother a suffering look.

"I wanted my discoveries to help people, not get the whole capital fighting like rabid dogs! His Majesty has enough to deal with right now; he doesn't need me adding to his problems."

Arland nodded.

"Sooo, this is not about your work then, or the court. You are worried about the King?"

"He doesn't deserve my problems," she said shaking her head, "He has problems enough on his own."

Again Arland nodded.

"Perhaps he does not see things that way," her brother replied.

She gave him an arched look.

"How do you suppose he sees it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I'm not the King."

"I'm asking your opinion," She said, "What do you think is going on?"

IOI

Arland shrugged, but looked away.

"I couldn't say," he said, even though he thought that to be a lie.

 _He…he…Oh Maker!_

 _Why couldn't mother still be here!_

 _She would be better at this than him._

This was no job for a soldier, or an older brother!

He might not know the King, but he **knew** his sister. He knew how to read her moods, and her motivations.

He shook his head.

Bea wasn't concerned with politics. She was worried about the King, personally.

She…she cared about what he thought, and was worried about him, not just as their monarch, but perhaps…something more.

Arland almost sighed.

 _Maker's breath,_ Father, he thought.

 _Is_ _ **this**_ _what you have been masterminding in Denerim?_

Bea was likely too close now to see it, and even if she could, she likely would not have cared.

But Arland did.

The soldier frowned.

He cared a great deal.

IOI

Bea looked down at the letter, playing with it nervously.

"Have…have you read it?" she asked.

Arland snorted.

"Read a private missive from the king? No, I like my head right where it is thank you."

Bea chuckled.

"I'm sort of fond of it myself, truth be told."

Arland smiled.

At least he made her smile that was some progress, at least.

Outside the wind rattled the windows. Bea shivered.

Arland sighed, and stood up.

"Come down stairs," he said, "Naya's making biscuits and warm tea. I could use the food after my ride, and you…"

He smiled slightly.

"I think you could use the company."

Bea looked down at the letter again frowning.

When she looked up again, she had that hint of a smile on her face again.

"I'll be right down," she promised, "I…I should take care of this, first."

Arland nodded and left her alone.

She sat there for a moment more, looking down at the wax seal.

She sighed.

What a day it was when she was afraid of the contents of a simple letter.

She rose from the chair went to her desk, pausing only for a moment to light awaken the enchanted lamp sitting there. She had purchased it from a tranquil back in Val Royeaux. Soon the room was bathed in a soft blue glow.

Bea broke the seal on the letter and pulled it out.

She sighed, bracing herself for what was inside.

Well, she thought glumly.

Here goes nothing.

IOI

Arland rose early the next morning, expecting to slip downstairs before anyone else was awake . He stretched and sat up in bed.

Below him he could hear voices Naya already busy at work, and perhaps the stable boy.

He looking out the window, and was pleased to see that the snow had stopped sometime in the night. That was good. It meant that the roads would likely still be in good enough condition to ride. The sky was still overcast, and dark with possibly more snow, but for now the road should be clear…

…and that was not all.

The soldier's brow furrowed.

He saw the servants readying his horse outside, his horse, and one other.

He went downstairs to find Bea already awake. His little sister was already in her travelling clothes, enjoying a quick meal of bread and fruit.

She smiled as he entered.

"Morning," she said warmly.

"Morning," he replied.

He sat down and helped himself to piece of bread. The melancholy girl he had spoken with the night before was gone. The old Bea was back.

That was a relief, he thought.

One crisis averted, at least.

She noticed that he was staring.

"What?" she inquired.

"Nothing," he said with a shrug.

Bea smiled and went back to her meal.

"I guessed that you wanted to get an early start," she said," I saw some riders pass shortly before dawn so the road should still be open to us."

Arland nodded, that was good news.

If the road was still open, they should make good time back to the capital. Bea was a good rider, he should know, he trained her himself.

The soldier pursed his lips.

He was…curious, but he held his tongue.

Bea seemed like a girl transformed this morning, but why?

What had fueled that transformation?

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

Bea nodded, not wishing to talk with her mouth full.

"Mm Hm," she mumbled.

He smiled slightly.

A happy Bea would make the journey back to Denerim easier, and once there…

His eyes narrowed.

He was going to have to have a word with Father, about Bea, the king, and whatever else was going on.

He hoped that Father would be…honest with him. Whatever was going on Bea was caught up in it.

He wanted to know exactly what that was.

Involving one's self in the king's business was dangerous.

Bea might be in danger.

He would not have it, and if father tried to ignore that…

He would find out quickly exactly what danger was.

Arland frowned.

That was not threat.

It was a promise.


	19. Preparation

**Chapter 19: Preparation**

"The green one, I think."

The elven maid nodded as she went to fetch the lovely emerald colored gown from the wardrobe. Lorelei Howe stood preening before the mirror in her bedroom, waiting the girl's return with much noble poise. The maid and her fellow servants had been working for the last hour, getting their young mistress ready, preparing her bath with the finest scented oils, bringing forth the jewelry that she might wear tonight, even going so far as to fetch the finest Orlesian perfumes from that girl in the marketplace.

Lorelei smiled as she gazed into her mirror, her damp red-gold hair was, for the moment, wild and untamed, and hinting already at her hidden predatory nature.

She liked that.

Her green eyes flashed dangerously offering both challenge and invitation. Her pale creamy skin though unadorned for now would soon be made to sparkle with just the right application of makeup. She would be a creature of fire and passion, and symbol of the strength she would one day wield.

The very thought made her giggle.

Here she was, poor little Lorelei, clad only in a silk bath towel, yet it was already clear that this was going to work far beyond her expectations.

When the girls were done, she would be the perfect little package.

When the girls were done, she would be beautiful, a vision of loveliness fit for a king, and ready to move ahead with the next stage of the plan.

The next step in the road, to get everything she had ever wanted.

She would be exactly what the Bann needed her to be, a symbol that the nobles could trust and rally around. Her physical beauty would be the hook, and all of the nobles who had been so intrigued by her these past few months would jump at that hook.

Then all she would have to do is reel the little fishes in.

She wanted to look her best tonight. She **needed** to look her best tonight. The King's Satinalia Ball was likely going to be **thee** event of the year. Bann Esmerelle had stressed the need to put her best foot forward. She had charmed many of the nobles, now she had to prove that their opinion of her was justified. She had to be every bit the noble they thought her to be.

Lorelei's smile faltered slightly. She needed to make this work. She had to.

She could not afford to look like a common bumpkin before the Denerim elite.

On the chair beside her the two rejected gowns that the maid had showed her waited to be put away. When she had been in the Duchess' service, such a task would have fallen to her, but now…now…

She smiled slightly.

Now she had servants to tend to such menial tasks, and that pleased her.

At last…she was getting what she deserved.

Of course, not everything in her life was perfect, word continued to arrive from Amaranthine. Thanks to the actions of the warden commander the city had weathered a recent assault by a darkspawn horde, but…

But…

The Bann's last letter to her had not been as… _pleasing_ as she had hoped; in fact it put everything that they were working for in jeopardy.

Lorelei was still not sure what needed to happen next on that front.

When the Bann had first brought her into her service, she had talked often about the need to… _remove_ the Orlesian warden commander from Vigil's Keep. As far as the Bann was concerned, the woman was a blemish on the face of their great Arling, and needed to be taken care of. Lorelei had been eager to help, but the Bann would not hear of it.

In her eyes, Lorelei's presence was needed elsewhere.

 _Leave the warden to me, little one,_ she had said, I have a plan. _I will see to her removal._ _Your task is dealing with the nobles on the royal court, bringing them over to our side._

The Bann had smiled then.

 _Do your job well, and all that you desire shall be yours._

It had seemed like a reasonable request, and the reward was nothing to sneeze at, so she had done what she was told.

The daughter of Rendon Howe had done her job. The Bann had failed miserably at hers.

Lorelei frowned.

Now…now she needed to decide what she was going to do about that.

The Warden should have been gone by now, that had been the plan. The Bann had invested a great deal of coin into ensuring just that, put her best and most trusted allies into places that they could aid them when needed.

In that Lorelei did not approve.

That coin that likely should have been spent elsewhere, as for the allies well...

She tended not to overestimate anyone, no matter what cause they pledged themselves to.

Lorelei knew that she could ask the Bann about this, but feared what might happen if she did. She was still after all still dependent on the woman's generosity. If she reached too far too fast she might lose everything.

She had decided to take matters into her own hands, but with care and silence.

Such caution was no doubt for the best

Jesper, who had accompanied her from the Duchess' Estate, was even now on his way back from Amaranthine. She had dispatched him several days ago, to find out quietly what exactly was going on.

He was due to return today. Then, she would be able to make an informed decision on what to do next.

The girl pursed her lips.

If the Bann **had** started to make mistakes then it fell to those around her to try and save the situation. What they were doing was far too important to trust to just one person.

Despite what the Bann said, Lorelei did not intend to simply sit in the capital and do nothing. Her future was at stake.

She would help Esmerelle…

…Whether she liked it or not.

Then there was the matter of her gift, her magic.

Lorelei's brow furrowed.

She knew what the Chantry said, magic was to serve and never to rule, but at the same time her noble blood demanded that she do what was needed to save her family. There were no doubt those in the capital who would think that she should be dragged off to the Circle immediately, that her storied family should die without issue.

Lorelei knew that she could not allow that.

The Howes had been around since the days of the Silver Knight, she would be damned if she would let that legacy die, just because she could make fire in her fists.

A hint of a smile came to her lips.

There was really only one thing to do.

Few people knew her secret, she would need to make sure things stayed that way, eliminate anyone who could not be trusted to keep it. She would have no problem with the last part; Mister Jesper was more than up to that challenge. Then she would need to find a teacher, someone to help her explore the full extent of her power. She could not deny that there were times that she felt the magic pulsing inside of her, screaming for release. It was like a fire in blood, and fire that threatened to explode into a massive inferno.

She had held such feelings in check, so far. Such moments frightened her, but at the same time she felt exalted by them.

 _Who did not want to feel greatness surging in their blood?_

She knew the Bann employed mages, like the one she had met at the farmhouse outside of Highever. She had been quite skilled, and no one could deny her results.

Lorelei shuddered at the memory, the people walking into the barn, their eyes glassy and vacant. One by one, they hanged themselves while she and the Bann watched.

It…it had been astonishing…and glorious.

She wanted to have such control, to **know** that she had such control. She would put Jesper on it; find out where the woman was now.

She would not tell the Bann of course, no reason to concern her in such a personal matter.

The Maid returned with the green dress, Lorelei took it and held it before her.

The girl smiled.

Perfect she thought.

The court was going to love her.

Lorelei nodded, this would be the one.

Now she would have to find just the right accessories, after that she would listen to Jesper's report find out what he had discovered about Bann Esmerelle. Then she would have to decide what would happen next, her future was here…

She just had to have the strength to seize it.

The very thought made her giddy.

One thing was for certain, she thought.

It was going to be an exciting new year.

IOI

Lorelei was not the only one preparing for the ball.

In her room in the royal wing, Bridget Glass, looked down at the gown her sister had picked out for her to wear. Behind her, Margaret stared expectantly, waiting for her sister's approval.

Bea was not in a hurry to give it.

"I'm not going to faint again in this will I sister?" she inquired.

Margaret laughed at that.

"Oh don't tell me you're still sore at me over that Bea? It wasn't like I set out to embarrass you."

Bea turned to her elder sister, a disapproving look on her face.

It killed some of Margaret's mirth, some but not much.

"This is not just about us, this time, Em" she warned her, "We are here at the King's request, given the hornet's nest we have stirred it up with the chantry, it is best that we not try to rock the boat any further."

"Technically, you stirred up that nest sister," Em reminded her.

Bea blinked.

"Well…yes, but that does not mean that we are not all caught up in this now. The King has decided to support m…the scholarly cause, we cannot let such trust go unanswered."

Bea drew in close to her sister.

"Remember," She said, "Father, Quentin, you and me, we are all here at the king's pleasure. We cannot afford to embarrass him."

Margaret knew that much, Bea was certain of that. She wished that her sister shared her passion for knowledge and discovery, but that just wasn't so.

She needed to make it about her, Margaret would respond to that, so it was no surprise when Em answered the way she did.

"I know."

Bea frowned. She still wasn't sure if Em truly grasped what was going on. She had to admit, she had given serious consideration to leaving, going back to the University. Perhaps it was not yet time for enlightenment to come to Denerim. The Chantry was resistant, the nobles were not much better. Perhaps it would have been better had her native home merely focus on rebuilding. Knowledge would come in its own good time.

Then…she had received the king's letter. His Majesty was…so honest in his prose, he had wanted her to understand that she was not an embarrassment to him. That he believed that what she was trying to do was good for their nation.

She smiled slightly at the memory.

The king was no poet, but then again he did not have to be. His writing spoke of compassion, and a passion to serve his people that she had not seen often in anyone else of the noble class.

Those words…had inspired her, it for that reason that she had returned.\

She would do what she could to help rebuild her homeland, the fact that it would please their king was merely another reward, and…she hated to admit it, but…

She really did want to please their king.

Ferelden was not Orlais, but that did not mean that they could not become a center for knowledge and culture on their own. The ideas being explored at the University of Orlais were by no means meant for the Empire alone.

The quest for knowledge was universal. The Chantry opposed that because they believed that enlightenment only came through the Maker. That it was best that the commons not think of better world, that things should stay as they had always been.

Bea did not understand that.

Tonight she would have to put her best foot forward. She would put aside the scholar for now, and embrace what he father had taught her. She could not afford to let Mother Allison paint her as some revolutionary.

No, tonight she would simply be, a poised noble girl. A member of the ruling class who only wanted what was best for her people.

She would stand beside her Father, the Chancellor and the King. They had all put great faith in her.

Now she would see that that faith was rewarded.

Maybe that would be enough, maybe that would sooth the Chantry's ire, and allow Ferelden to enter not just a new year, but also a new age of enlightenment.

She smiled slightly.

Provided the king not trip her during their first dance.

The thought made her blush slightly.

Would she share a dance with the king? Yes, she suspected that she would, for appearances sake if nothing else.

A slight shiver ran down her spine, though she did not quite understand why.

Bea turned and began to get ready for the Ball, Margaret left as well, likely to see to her own preparations.

The scholar glanced down at the dress, and smiled.

One thing was for sure.

It was going to be a…interesting evening.


	20. Satinalia

**A/N: Merry Christmas, Everyone!**

 **DG**

 **Chapter 20: Satinalia**

The great hall blazed with golden light.

As one the nobles descended on the palace district of Denerim. The snow of the previous day having turned the capital into a world of black and white, throughout the city citizens gathered in private homes and taverns. The Feast of Satinalia had long been a day of revelry, a chance to give thanks for all that they had, and all that they had endured in the previous two years: the fall of the Archdemon, the shortest Blight in Thedas history, the reconstruction effort, and the return of their sons and daughters from the war.

Yes, the native Fereldans had much to be thankful for this year.

For the nobles this was a chance to finally show all of Thedas that they had survived the Blight, and remained unbroken. Many eyes still held the kingdom in their steady gaze, evaluating, weighing risk.

If the nobles of Ferelden showed no fear, it would go a long way to ensuring that those hungry gazes settled on more tempting targets.

Ferelden was not weak, it was recovering, and one day soon, it would be stronger than ever.

That was the impression that the kingdom needed to give the rest of the world…

…That was what had to happen.

IOI

King Alistair sat on the throne and nodded respectfully as the various merchants, lords, and ambassadors came forward to offer their good wishes for the holiday.

He shook his head as he stared out over the mass of people filling the hall. He had not seen this many people here since the Landsmeet that first made him king. The room was packed with brightly dressed nobles, some masked, others not. He found himself thinking about Ostagar, how angry Teyrn Loghain had gotten when Cailan went out without his bodyguards. The soldier within the king realized how easily it would have been to hide an assassin with this throng. It was one of the reasons that the Chancellor insisted that he remain on the throne and not mingle. The guests might not be able to see the guards, but they were there…

…Just in case.

Elven servants wove in and out between the crowd, expertly carrying food and drink trays. Alistair had spotted Bann Shianni an hour ago speaking with a small group of them, thanking them for their services and possibly listening to whatever gossip they might have overheard. It had not taken the Bann long to realize that secrets were useful coin here in the capital, secrets that she could not gather herself, she drew too much attention. The elven noble had drawn many a curious stares from the visiting dignitaries, this was likely the first time they had been to a noble party were an elf was a fellow guest, and not just another servant.

He smiled slightly.

Shianni would likely complain about those stares later. He would politely listen, and do his best to reassure her that everything was normal.

It was the least he could do, for Kallian's sake, if nothing else.

The balcony that ringed the hall was also crowded; he picked out several familiar faces up there. Mother Allison stood talking politely with the Orlesian Ambassador. Arl Teagan chatting with a familiar looking blonde girl, he couldn't remember her name, but…still…

Hm?

 _Where had he seen her before?_

"Happy Satinalia, Your Majesty."

He smiled. Eamon stood before the throne, bowing slightly.

"Happy Satinalia, Milord," he said in response. He glanced out over the crowd.

"Quite a turn out," he said.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the Chancellor agreed, "It has been a long time since the nobles had a chance to gather for revelry."

"Hopefully, it won't be the last," Alistair sighed, "We have asked a lot of them in the last year."

"Necessary sacrifices, all, Your Majesty," Eamon reminded him. "We…"

"Happy Satinalia, Your Majesty, Your Grace."

Eamon winced.

Wilbur Rich wove his way through the crowd, the man was dressed conservatively tonight, a matte black tunic with matching pants and boots.

Alistair fought the urge to chuckle.

The man looked like he was on the way to a funeral.

He had to suppress the urge to ask Rich if anyone had died.

"Mister Rich," Eamon said with bothering to hide his disdain.

The man gave the Chancellor that cold smile of his. He quickly turned his attention back to the king.

"Mister Rich," the King said with a nod, "Enjoying the celebration?"

"It is an impressive display, Your Majesty," he said, "And useful as well. No one can say that Ferelden is not on the road to recovery, not after this."

Eamon snorted.

"It is also a chance for a noble to forget their troubles for an evening, Mister Rich. I would not expect a man like you to understand that."

Alistair glared at the Chancellor.

That was not very nice.

If Rich had been insulted, he did not show it.

He smiled at the former Arl of Redcliffe.

"I understand the need to put down ones burdens," he replied, "A noble is no different than anyone else, after all."

He once again turned his attention to the king.

"Enjoy the Holiday, Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow, "I suspect we will be very busy in the coming year."

"I suspect so, as well, Mister Rich," The King said, "Please enjoy the party."

The man nodded, and melted back into the crowd, several nobles moving quickly to get out of his way, glaring at the man like he was Blight-carrier.

Alistair snorted with amusement.

It was an amusement that the Chancellor did not share.

"Watch that one closely, Your Majesty," he advised, "You let your guard down, and…"

Alistair chuckled.

He might not act like it, but he understood how to deal with dangerous people, after a year of living around Sten, Oghren, Zevran, and Morrigan and he had through Kallian, come to understand such people's desires and needs.

Rich, in his own way, reminded Alistair of Morrigan. Power was what he sought, the coin he made from secrets was a secondary reward, what Rich enjoyed most was **having** those secrets, knowing what he could use them for, and what it would cost those around him if he used them.

It was wise to keep an eye on such a man, lest he get any bad ideas.

Rich's attitude made him dangerous of course, but there was also a check to his ambition, one Alistair had learned from his many conversations with the man over the last few months.

Rich, at his core, was a patriot. He loved Ferelden, and being in its service. He had shared more than a few things with Alistair, not world shattering damning things, but little tidbits of information that had allowed the king to diffuse small problems before they had a chance to blow up into something big. That help had paid off for him. The nobles were starting to look at their king in a different light, no longer was he just the bastard prince, who just happened to have been in the right place at the right time.

Slowly, but surely, people were starting to respect him, and respect his rule. There was still a small nagging part of him that felt he was unworthy of all this, he doubted that would ever totally go away, but with each success he was beginning to see the job was not impossible.

He could do this.

He could be the king.

Wilbur Rich had played a part in that, and Alistair recognized both the need to reward the man, and to keep him close to make sure he did not turn against the realm. For that reason, he had already decided to name the man First Secretary to the Royal Court. Rich would report directly to him, and through him he would be able to pass his edicts and proclamations to the royal court.

Alistair smiled grimly.

It would be an excellent test, if the man's ambitions got out of control he would be able to see it, and deal with it swiftly. It would also make the court think twice about trying to manipulate him; Rich would no doubt continue to be kept in the loop through his many contacts.

The King was not above using both to serve his needs.

He almost laughed, He found himself thinking back to Orzammar how Kallian had played both Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont against each other…

At the time he had been sickened by what he thought of as a betrayal of their trust. Kallian had set him straight.

 _We can't afford to get dragged down into their argument,_ she had said, _and by helping both we have the best chance of coming out on top whoever wins this election._

In the end, she had been right, and now he was applying a similar strategy of using Rich and the Royal Court.

Kallian would have approved, or at least he hoped she would have.

He felt a cold twisting in his heart. Even now, almost two years later, he still missed her, but the pain had…changed somewhat, it no longer crippled him with grief.

Perhaps, that was a good thing.

He would always love her, he did not doubt that. She had been his first, in so many ways, but it seemed possible now that he might be able to move on, that he…

"Ser Nathaniel Glass and Family!" the herald shouted

The herald at the doors announcement made him perk up, he glanced over the crowd, his heart beating a little faster, beating with both concern, and perhaps a bit of worry.

 _What if she doesn't come?_

 _What if she doesn't forgive?_

The thought was troubling for him, more than troubling.

He was just trying to make everything right again.

He spotted Ser Nathaniel, his son Quentin, and the eldest girl Margaret. For a brief moment he feared that his letter had not reached its intended reader, that something had happened…that he…

It was then that he spotted her, and a nervous sigh escaped his lips.

Perhaps he was not entirely unlucky after all.

Bea remained close to her elder brother Arland. Clad in a gown of rich dark red velvet. Her raven hair tumbled gently down her shoulders, flowing down in a way that no man in Thedas could fail to call the girl attractive.

The king rose from his throne, and began to walk.

The guards trusted to watch him, were likely not pleased with him marching into the throng, but at the same time, he refused to be denied.

Was he not the king here?

Did that not mean that he had a right to do what he wished?

The members of the court parted, lowering their eyes and bowing as he passed them by. He acknowledged several with slight nods, but beyond that he said nothing.

He was now a man on a mission, and he would let no one sway him from it.

Ser Nathaniel was the first to notice his approach, the noble man dropped to one knee.

"Your Majesty," he said diverting his eyes.

One by one his children followed suit. Alistair might have noticed, but few could say for certain...

…For the king, this fine holiday eve, had eyes for only one of the Glass family.

"Lady Glass," he purred.

Bridget kept her head low, her eyes diverted, as was respectful.

"Your Majesty," she murmured, "Happy Satinalia."

The King smiled, and took her by the hand. The act surprised the girl, but she did not try and resist.

Alistair guided her to her feet, and their eyes met.

He smiled shyly at her.

"Happy Satinalia," he purred, "Milady."

She blushed under that smile.

This…such an entrance was not quite what she had expected.

However that did not mean that others were not pleased to see it.

Chancellor Eamon caught the eye of Ser Nathaniel Glass.

The former Arl of Redcliffe nodded to his partner in this endeavor, his fellow conspirator.

Glass nodded back, the future rewards that would be his dancing merrily through his thoughts.

It had taken a bit of time, but…at long last…

Ser Nathaniel smiled.

At last, the plan was finally starting to bear fruit.

All that was required now, was a bit of patience.

And the world as they knew it would change.

IOI

Alas, Ser Nathaniel and the Chancellor were not the only ones watching the king's…actions this fine night.

Lorelei Howe, surrounded by her gaggle of noble daughters, took careful note of what she was seeing. The king she knew had been allies with the elven tart who had murdered her lord father. Such a crime could not be forgotten easily.

She pursed her lips.

If she was claim all that was hers, she would one day need to deal with his treachery, or at least maneuver herself into a position that he would be powerless to stop her from taking back all that was rightfully hers.

Such power would not come easy, but seeking it would definitely be worth the wait.

For now she would have to be patient.

Empires were not built in a day after all.

No, if she wanted what was hers, she would have to be careful, silent.

One day, her day would come.

She simply had to have the strength to be there to seize it.

It would be tough, but that was okay.

Lorelei smiled.

Some treasures were well worth the wait.

She would be patient.

She could wait, and in the end, everything would be hers.

A feral gleam came to her eye, a hungry fearsome gleam.

All she had to do was be patient.

The world was hers after all.

All she had to do was wait to seize it.

All would bow to her, and despair.

All. Of. Them.


	21. A Good Bad Idea

**Chapter 21: A Good Bad Idea**

 _Lady Glass_

 _I write to you now once again asking your pardon. Words do not come easily to me so I hope you can forgive my simple scrawl. I would not risk using my scribe because I know he would take too much pleasure embarrassing me by dictating my exact words, likely for his own amusement. Perhaps I should punish him for that…but…_

 _Never mind._

 _It seems that no matter what I do, I cause you either shame or discomfort that was never my intent. That day we met outside the stables was my fault yet you were forced to run, just as you did the day you tried to teach me how to dance._

 _Perhaps it would be better if I stayed away, but I know that such an act would be wrong for our beloved country. I may not understand everything about your work but I know it to be impressive, and that your desire to help us is genuine. I would be a much poorer king than I already know myself to be if I let your contribution fade because I was too clumsy or awkward to keep from making a fool of myself in your presence._

 _I was never meant to be a ruler and I thank you for humoring me with all my heart, but that does not change that I have wronged you._

 _So now, I must make amends._

 _I must once again beg your forgiveness, not as a king but as myself._

 _I ask you to return to the capital not for me, but for the homeland we both love. I will accept your anger if it exists and will stay away from you if that is what you desire._

 _Trust me, I'm used to having nobles cast me away, your decision will not affect my opinion of your work._

 _Return to us Milady, please…this is not an order, but a request of a man who wishes to see Ferelden made strong again._

 _If you return by Satinalia, I will know that you have accepted my apology and I will be grateful. If not, I wish you well and good health in whatever you decide to do. For now, I remain your humble servant…_

 _Alistair._

 _PS: Mister Rich understands what was going on when he barged in on us. He will not make things difficult for you, this I swear._

IOI

It was those words that drew Bea back to the capital. When she had first opened the letter she had expected the king to speak down to her, to call her childish for her flight that day during their aborted dancing lesson.

 _What she had actually found was something far more…_ _ **intriguing.**_

The letter safely locked in her desk in her room still continued to invade her thoughts. Even the glory of the Satinalia Ball paled in comparison to the thoughts bouncing around her head.

She was so distracted she almost walked over the poor elven page who tried to take her fur cloak. She blushed and apologized, the poor man insisted that it must have been his fault and that she should not give it another thought.

The very thought made her wince, she…she was not one of those kind of people; she did not need to abuse elven servants to make herself feel better.

Alas that thought faded quickly, so strong were the hold the King's words had on her.

Maker, she thought.

What had he been thinking?

It surprised her that he actually spoke to Mister Rich on her behalf. The man could be a powerful enemy, she knew that, and yet the King faced him down…for her.

 _Astonishing!_

Most nobles she had met in Orlais would not have stuck out their neck for their own parents much less a scholar in their employ. The King risked much on her behalf, after that…

 _How could she_ _ **not**_ _return?_

His Majesty…Alistair… he was… **not** what she expected, he continued to surprise her, and, as much as she hated to admit it, to tug at both her heart and her conscience.

Alistair, His Majesty was so…so…honest with her, it was humbling, and his humility, the words he used did not sound like a man of great bravado…

Instead, they sounded like an honestly nice and gentle man caught up in matters beyond anything any smart person could hope to be.

She had to admit it, hearing him speak of nobles turning their back on him, and putting down his performance as King…it was heartbreaking. She had heard from many during her travels that the common people loved King Alistair, they believed him their savior, and a voice that actually spoke for them.

In her eyes, such a man was not unworthy of his title, in fact, if more nobles thought like His Majesty did, Thedas would be a much better place indeed.

As much sadness was in the letter she also felt a sense of great hope as well. He did not see her as a burden, despite everything she had done since presenting herself at court all those months ago. He did not blame her for everything that had happened; instead choosing to take on the full responsibility for such acts himself.

It was also clear that, despite the many rumors, he did not see her as some pretty plaything. He actually sought her advice and aid, knowing that she had his support, she could deal with all those fools claiming she was nothing but the King's whore. What did she care when her work was saving lives and making a Ferelden a better place, and hopefully, one day, a safe haven for other scholars who wished to advance the will of science.

Let the nay-sayers grumble, she did not care.

Of course, that also meant she had to be careful. She and His Majesty needed to keep their relationship completely and utterly professional, to protect him. If the two of them fed the rumor mill, it would just take away from what she was trying to do, what the king asked her to do.

She and the King…in a relationship, preposterous!

In time, she hoped the rest of the kingdom would see that.

She would need to be polite and keep her distance. It would be necessary to explain all this to His Majesty of course; she did not want him to get the wrong idea. She had no desire to hurt him. Father would also be annoyed, but once again, that was something she would just have to endure.

Bea shook her head.

Everything she had seen up to this point. It suggested that King Alistair was a kind, generous, handsome, and charming monarch.

She smiled slightly.

He would make some lucky woman a very good husband one day. The fact that she would become Queen was just another reward for such a union.

Bea shook her head.

If she was anyone else, she might have tempted to be jealous of such a woman.

Fortunately, she was not.

Bea was smart.

She knew her place, and it was a respectful distance from the king.

That was all there was…

…And all there would ever be.

IOI

The Glass Family stood while the nobles attending the party sized them up.

Father seemed more than pleased, and perhaps he was.

This was likely the biggest splash their family had ever made at one of these things.

Well…she would not try to harm his moment. Papa worked hard.

Let him enjoy this.

Arland stayed close to her while Quentin and Margaret gossiped behind her.

Suddenly, the crowd began to part, murmuring excitedly.

Bea's eyes narrowed.

What in Andraste's name…?

Em leaned in close to her.

"It seems the King wishes to greet us, himself," she cooed.

Bea's eyes widened.

Sweet Andraste, she thought.

NO!

Sure enough, there was King Alistair moving his way through the crowd, a crowd that was parting like a curtain before a hand.

The young lady Glass swallowed hard.

The King…looked; well there was no way to deny it.

The King…he looked good!

His crimson robes with their fur and gold embroidery looked nothing less than regal. The simple crown he wore took nothing away from his warriors bearing, his eyes blazed with cheer, and…and…

Bea frowned.

Something…well… she hoped that she was wrong.

Something she prayed to both the Maker and his bride that she was wrong.

She dipped low, diverting her eyes respectfully.

Professionalism, she reminded herself.

We need to keep things, perfectly and truly…

Professional.

The king stood before her.

She swallowed hard again.

The rest of her family was bowing as well.

She fought the urge to whimper.

Let me be wrong, she thought.

For the love of the Maker!

Let me be wrong!

She risked a look up; the king was looking down upon her.

Her belly twisted slightly.

Maker save me.

"Happy Satinalia, Your Majesty," she said.

She saw him holding out his hand. She reached out and took it.

The King pulled her to her feet.

It…it was all she could to keep from yelping.

She found herself staring into his eyes, they burned with a warmth that both excited and terrified her.

"Happy Satinalia, Milady," he purred.

She swallowed hard again, as he pulled her out onto the dance floor.

A small part of her wanted to pull away from him, to run for the door, and from there the nearest carriage, and from there the nearest ship back to the University…

This…this was not how it was supposed to be.

She…she was going to end up hurting Ferelden!

She was going to end up hurting Alistair!

Bea tried not to meet his eyes, even as the crowd began to form up on the dance floor.

Form up for the Dowager's Allemande!

She shivered.

She glanced at the king, if he noticed her discomfort, he did not show it.

He was still smiling shyly.

"I have been practicing," he promised.

"Trust me."

Bea's blush darkened.

She…she did not want to hurt anyone!

Not Ferelden and not the King!

Yet, she could no longer tell which would cause her more pain.

Her Country or her King.

She shook her head.

That fool, she thought.

That sweet wonderful fool.

The dance began.

She focused on the steps.

The steps were at least something tangible, something she could control…

She fought the urge to sigh.

…Unlike her traitorous heart.

IOI

Mother Allison watched from her place on the balcony. The chantry priest glared down on the dance floor, down on the whore trying to worm her way into the King's heart.

She shook her head.

Could His Majesty not see!

Could he not tell what that…that **concubine** represented!

She was harbinger for change, and change was rarely for the better, especially when it came to so called academics.

The priest shook her head.

Anora MacTir had also had an interest in the sciences, but she at least understood the value of accepting Chantry oversight of such matters.

Academics, much like mages, played with fire, and with forces that only the Maker should understand.

She sighed.

Such arrogance never ceased to sicken her.

"Happy Satinalia, Your Reverence."

She turned, finding the prow like nose of the Orlesian Ambassador invading her personal space.

The mother smiled in spite of that.

"Mister Ambassador," she said with a slight bow, "What brings you to my side."

"Merely observing the spectacle below," he said with a slight smirk.

He chuckled slightly.

"For a pack of Ferelden dog lords, they perform the Allemande almost…proficiently."

Allison glared, as a Ferelden; she did not like being referred to as a dog lord.

The Ambassador noticed her discomfort.

He smiled.

"I mean no disrespect, Your Reverence. In fact I have a high opinion of the Chantry."

He glanced down below pointing slightly.

Allison frowned.

The man was pointing at the whore.

Her eyes narrowed.

What was this now?

The Ambassador smiled.

"You really hate her don't you?" he said.

The priest sniffed.

"I am a servant of the Maker," she snorted, "I hate no one."

Again, the Ambassador chuckled.

"Of course," he replied, "Of course, if you did…"

He leaned in closer.

"You would not be alone," he whispered.

That got the Mother's attention.

She blinked, and pretended to watch out of the crowd.

It had not taken much, but now the Ambassador had her complete and undivided attention.

"Explain," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the music below.

The Ambassador licked his lips, almost like a wolf, savoring the meal to come.

His eyes never left the Lady Glass.

"Changes are coming in the New Year, Your Reverence, big changes," he said softly.

Again Allison's brow furrowed.

"What kind of changes?"

The Ambassador shrugged.

"That young woman down there had made some waves in the last few weeks."

The man pursed his lips.

"Some people would prefer if she stopped…permanently."

Allison paused; a hint of a smile came to her lips.

"That could be risky, my son, given the King's…infatuation."

"The king would have my condolences of course," he said, "Such a dangerous place the roads around Denerim these days. So many hard people…

The man smiled again.

"Fatal accidents happen all the time, and those in power, remain blameless when such matters occur."

Allison blinked, if the man was saying what she thought he was saying…

A member of the Chantry should take steps to stay such matters, but…

She frowned.

But…

The man was right.

Accidents happened all the time.

They were tragic, but that was all they were.

Tragic.

"Is the young lady to be travelling soon?"

"My sources say so," he answered, "Perhaps it is best that you do not know all the details."

The Mother smiled.

Ignorance was bliss they said, but it was also very useful when certain matters were…dealt with.

She looked down on the concubine once again, and felt a black flicker of rage.

For the faith, she was prepared to act, but if someone else took up the banner, well…

Who was she to stop them?

She put her hand on the Ambassador's shoulder, he lowered his head respectfully.

"May the Maker bless you in your endeavors, Ambassador," she said, May we all find the pass to enlightenment."

"Perhaps we will," he agreed, "Good night Revered Mother, enjoy the rest of the party."

The priest smiled.

"Fair well my son," she said, "Maker go with you, and watch over you."

The man nodded and slipped back into the crowd.

Mother Allison returned to watching the King and his whore.

She smiled slightly.

The Maker moved in mysterious ways, perhaps this was him showing her the way.

It was a bad thing to be sure, but a bad thing done with the most noble of purposes.

 _What was so wrong with that?_

When it came to the matters of the souls of her flock, she was prepared to do what she must to keep them safe, to keep the world safe.

That was simply, the way things were.

It was not that hard to accept, one blasphemous girl for the souls of all of Denerim that was not a sacrifice that was a bargain.

She raised her hand, speaking the first line of the prayer for the dead.

She suspected that the whore would need it soon.

The Maker truly did work in mysterious ways.

She found herself looking forward to the New Year.

Things…were going to be interesting for a while she thought.

…Very interesting…indeed.


	22. A Visitor

**Chapter 22: A Visitor**

It was quite late by the time that Bea finally retired for the evening. She made her way to her quarters in the royal wing, making sure to take each step carefully, lest her buzzing head send her giggling to the floor.

Maker knew, she had no head for wine, yet she had had five cups this evening. She reveled with the skills she had been taught at the University, surprisingly, she managed to outlast most of her peers.

In Orlais these types of parties could go all night, but Ferelden seemed to have different tastes, or perhaps, they simply lacked the stamina. Of course, not everyone here had come to celebrate, to some; the ball was as much about business as it was pleasure. After King Alistair retired for the evening, the ball turned to the day to day business of the nobility deal, plots, and schemes. The lords retired to the various smoking rooms where they could talk privately, while their ladies gossiped around the various food tables and hearths.

The Lady Glass had spotted her Father at one point slipping away with Chancellor Eamon, and several of his allies, likely to speak of what business opportunities awaited them in the New Year. Quentin had been talking to several of the young ladies attending the ball. Bea was not sure which one he had left with, but hoped he remembered at least some of his noble upbringing.

She frowned slightly.

Considering what everyone was gossiping about **her** , she hoped that her dear brother would behave with at least some…discretion. Their family could not likely handle more scandal.

Margaret had taken up position near the feast early in the eve. Several young men had come up to her, likely the sons of noble lords or merchants. Em had laughed at their jokes and no doubt flirted with them, feeding both their amusement and their curiosity.

Arland, though not much for politics, had still managed to enjoy himself, or at least she thought he had. Her eldest brother had spent most of the party chatting with the knights and generals that had aided Ferelden during the Blight. Arland seemed to fit well among his fellow warriors, and they seemed to have accepted him as one of their own.

He had not told her everything on their trip back, but it was clear that he suspected that something was going on with Father. She didn't worry too much about that, she would no doubt find out what was happening in due time, but for now…she had a decision to make.

She sighed.

She needed to figure out what she was going to do about the king.

She leaned heavily against the wall. She took a deep breath and tried to get her bearings. The wine did not help, it dulled her wits, but that did not take away the need for action.

She shook her head. She really should not have drank so much this eve, but it seemed that whenever her cup was empty, someone was there to refill it, kindness some might say, but she, having spent time in Val Royeaux knew better.

 _Even a simple act of kindness could become a weapon as sharp as any knife that was the game at its core._

Most of those she spoke to this evening asked her about the king trying to convince her to bring this matter or that before him. She did her best to discourage their questions, but…

She pursed her lips.

The King had done little to help her case tonight.

After their first dance, Bea had kept her distance. It had not been very hard considering all the lords and ladies looking to twist his ear towards this matter or that. She spent the bulk of evening speaking with the various lords who had come to support the King's scholarly initiative. Given her status as a favorite of the king most of the lords were more than willing to speak with her.

Bea frowned.

It was her status with the King that still remained a problem. Alistair's choice of her for his first dance partner of the evening had set many tongues wagging, and had no doubt given credence to the various rumors that were currently flying about her. For her part, the Lady Glass did nothing to encourage such accusations. She was simply a scholar brought in to aid Ferelden, nothing more, nothing less.

Then there were the looks.

The scholar pursed her lips.

Mot more than four times during the night she had spotted the king's eyes upon her. She had looked away quickly, trying not to blush, but…had it been her imagination?

Had the King seemed to enjoy her discomfort?

No, it must have been her imagination.

It was that moment that her conscience decided to speak up.

Bea shook her head.

 _So, just a simple scholar are you? It isn't that simple, and you know it._

She frowned, that little voice in the back of her head could always be so annoying, but at the same time it often pushed her to be better as well, it forced her to think when her pride got in the way, it forced her to look at things she would rather have kept hidden.

Yet, tonight, it was neither helpful nor useful.

Tonight it was being a real pain.

She sighed.

The king doesn't need my problems, she thought, and he certainly doesn't need me causing him anymore.

Again her conscience answered her, and it was not what she had hoped to hear.

 _And you're going to say that you felt nothing when the king approached you tonight? That you felt nothing under his warm gaze? You are not even going to acknowledge the fact that you were flattered by his attention. That this awkward, yet brave, wonderful man decided to honor_ _ **you**_ _above all others?_

Of course I was flattered, but that wasn't the point.

 _So what was the point? You kept your distance tonight sure, but at the same time you could not stop watching him._

I wasn't watching him.

 _Liar._

I wasn't.

 _So you did not feel a twinge of jealousy at all those noble beauties flocking around him. You did not want to jump right into the middle of them, and remind them all who you were?_

Bea's eyes narrowed.

She had not been jealous.

 _Are you sure?_

She pursed her lips.

I have nothing to be jealous about. The King is a free man; he can… _fraternize_ with whomever he wishes.

 _Just keep telling yourself that, maybe one day, you will even_ _ **believe**_ _it._

Bea shook her head.

"Shut up," she grumbled as she tottered up the stairs, the wine doing little to elevate her mood.

Once again she took a deep breath and tried to center herself.

It was preposterous, **simply preposterous!**

She was **nothing** to the king, just another scholar.

 _Keep telling yourself that, sister,_ her conscience chided.

Bea shook her head.

She feared that all her denials were as empty as she thought.

Perhaps…after everything else…

Perhaps she **was** …a little attracted…to His Majesty.

It was not something she wanted to explore.

Bea shook her head again.

She really needed to get away from all this.

She pressed on towards her room.

She felt nothing tonight, she thought.

She felt nothing.

IOI

She was grateful when she finally reached her room. The few guards she had passed nodded respectfully as she went by. Even with her time away, they had all come to know her so not a one challenged her presence.

She leaned against the edge of the door, and took another deep breath. She hiccupped, and giggled slightly.

Maker, she thought.

I'm going to regret this in the morning.

She fumbled for the door, finally managed to find the handle, she opened it and slipped inside.

The room was far better furnished than what she was used to, in fact it even put their small estate in waking seas to shame, large double bed, fine oak desk and cabinets. Orlesian silk curtains fluttered in the window during the summer months.

The small hearth gave off a dim light, throwing many shadows. Bea went for a tapper, so that she could light a candle and prepare for bed.

It was in that moment that she froze.

It was in that moment that she realized that she was not alone.

A hooded figure sat at her desk, clearly armed and armored gloved hands hid most of the face, yet she could still make out the eyes shining in dim light. If not for the wine she might have acted, might have called for help, but she didn't.

Those eyes pinned her in place.

These were the eyes of a predator on the hunt.

Bea was a statue, unable to move.

They stood that way for about a minute before the figure spoke.

"I'm not going to hurt you," a soft musical voice purred, the Orlesian accent was unmistakable.

"Please don't scream."

Bea swallowed hard, the woman's assurance, she now knew it to be a woman helped her find her tongue.

"Who…who are you," she stammered, "What do you want?"

The figure reached up and removed her hood, revealing a beautiful pale face and a head of short red hair. The cut and braiding suggested that she was a commoner, but her eyes, her demeanor suggested something else.

"I am a friend of the King," she said softly, "You may call me Nightingale."

Bea blinked.

This woman was a friend of the King? Was she here to do something about the rumors about her?

Bea managed a weak smile. If this woman had wanted her dead, she would likely be already. Even from here she could see the daggers on the woman's belt, that and something else.

The scholar frowned.

"Your scarf," she said pointing, the fabric was deep red with Andraste's holy symbol upon it.

Few mercenaries wore such a thing.

"Are you from the Chantry?"

Nightingale smiled slightly.

"A was a lay sister," she replied, "Perhaps I still am, but it is not for the Chantry that I am here tonight, it is for Alistair."

The familiarity in the woman's voice sent a flicker of over protectiveness through Bea, a surge of dislike that she could not explain.

See you are jealous, the little voice in her head chided.

Bea wished that she could shut it up.

Nightingale likely noticed the shift in her posture, she smiled with amusement.

"The King and I are friends," she repeated, "Just friends; we walked through many dark places together. You cannot come out of something like that and not be close. Our dear Alistair is like a brother to me, I do not wish to see him harmed."

The scholar relaxed slightly.

She needed to keep a cool head, to think.

The fear had done much to sober her up, now she had to make use of it.

She met her guest with an even hard gaze.

"You have still not explained your presence here?"

Nightingale merely continued to smile.

"I have been hearing…rumors, my contacts in Orlais have confirmed some of them, but I found the ones centered on you more interesting."

Bea tilted he head slightly.

"People are talking about me, in Orlais?"

"Some," Nightingale shrugged, "There are those in Orlais who wish to see…great change in Ferelden. The Blight has left Ferelden weakened; some would take advantage of that."

Nightingale leaned back in her chair, she pinned the scholar with a hard gaze.

"Some of those people back in Orlais might have considered sending a bard here to deal with His Majesty. I have been seeking possible suspects, until this moment I thought that you might be one as well."

Nightingale tilted her head.

"I can now see that that is no longer the case, or you are far better at the game than you appear."

Bea blinked.

She had heard tales of the Orlesian bards, the spy entertainers of the empire, the nobles' swords in the darker levels of the grand game. She had never spoken to one personally, but…

She swallowed again.

She had a feeling that she was speaking to one now.

The Chantry in Orlais was not above playing the game, even though they might say so. This woman had likely come from them, but she also said she was a friend to the king?

It was difficult to say which story was more true.

"I am no bard," she said, "I simply a scholar, taught by the University of Orlais."

Again Nightingale smiled.

"That and something more," she said, "You are a noble girl of good family, a family that has some shadows in its past, but nothing that screams treason."

The woman rose and circled Bea, evaluating her with every step.

The Scholar did not move, something told her that might be a bad idea.

Finally, Nightingale stood before her, no longer was there any amusement in her eyes. Her manner was hard and serious.

Bea tried not flinch under that look.

"I care for Alistair," Nightingale said, "I made a promise to look after him, and so I am here. If you are toying with his affections as part of some scheme I will not be happy."

Bea glared at the woman, her accusations pricking her noble temper, a temper further fueled by the wine.

"I'm **not** toying with anyone," she snarled back, "His Majesty has been kind to me, and as far as any schemes go…"

She drew closer to Nightingale.

"The rumors being spread about me are false. I am not the King's lover or his whore. I'm doing everything in my power to halt those rumors."

Bea glared and turned away.

"The King does not need me causing him anymore trouble."

She turned back to face the armed woman, waiting for her response. Nightingale did something that surprised her.

She smiled.

"I can see now why he is growing fond of you," she purred, "That fire reminds me a little of a friend we shared, a good woman taken from us too soon."

The armed woman lowered her head; sadness briefly flickered across her face.

When she looked up again there was no threat in her eyes.

"Do you care for him, for Alistair?"

Bea winced.

Alistair was her king; she was supposed to have nothing but perfect love for him. He was their defender and sovereign, but personally, personally she…she…

The scholar winced.

"I do care for His Majesty," she confessed, "He is…is not what I expected. He is far more humble than most nobles I have known, and…considering how we met…he…he…

Bea chuckled. She would always remember that moment in the stable, both of them covered in mud, at the time she had been furious, then frightened, but now…now…

Maker…what a strange way to meet someone.

Nightingale remained close, awaiting her final answer.

"He…he is a very good man, but…but I know my place."

She gave the other woman a sad smile.

"I would never do anything to harm him."

Nightingale relaxed.

"Sometimes it is necessary to step outside ones proper place to achieve what needs to be done," she advised, "If a good friend of ours had not, we would likely all still be under the threat of the Blight."

Nightingale sighed.

"Do not be afraid of your heart, Lady Glass," she said, "Alistair may need you in the days to come."

"Why," Bea asked, "What is coming?"

"Change," the other woman said, "Alistair will need to keep his friends close. If you are one of those, and I think you are, than you must be strong…for him."

Bea's wine addled mind spun. Her heart and her head clashed.

She knew her place, but…

If His Majesty, if Alistair was in danger?

She was no warrior, but she would do what she could.

Nightingale stepped passed her heading for the door.

"The guards," Bea warned her.

Nightingale giggled.

"They will not see me," she said, "We will speak again, goodnight Lady Glass."

Bea curtsied.

"Goodnight, Lady Nightingale."

The other woman paused.

"I am no lady," she said with a smirk, "Sister is probably a better title, but my friends call me Leliana."

Bea's eyes widened.

Leliana.

Yes, she had heard the name.

One of the heroes of the Blight.

Leliana said no more as she slipped out into the hall.

Bea stood there, unable to move. Her heart pounding in her ears, as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Change was coming, and with it, a threat to the king.

Bea looked down at her hands.

If the woman was right?

She…she…

Oh Maker!

What was she going to do now?


	23. Three Months Later

**Chapter 23: Three Months Later**

"Welcome home, Papa."

Ser Nathaniel Glass blinked as he stepped off the gang plank. He thought he could hear the whispers from his delivers even from here, though they should not have been surprised. He had told the sailors of the Bountiful to expect a royal welcome upon his return that he was more than some mere merchant that they had brought home from his meetings in Val Royeaux.

They might not have believed him, well…here was the proof he had sought.

A full company of king's guard awaited him on the dock, along with a carriage to take him back to the palace district, and leading this little welcoming party…

The nobleman smiled.

"Bea," he exclaimed as he embraced his youngest child, "I was not expecting to see you here today, Sweetheart."

His daughter merely smiled.

"A favor for Chancellor Eamon," she said kissing him on both cheeks, "He wished me to see you escorted safely to the palace."

She gave him that tiny smile of hers.

"We would not want anything unforeseen happening on your big day, now would we?"

The older man smiled, as he took his daughter's hand and helped her up into the carriage. He followed soon after, trying to restrain his glee at this most…auspicious of days.

He almost shivered.

 _Today had been a_ _ **long**_ _time coming._

 _Why should he_ _ **not**_ _be excited?_

Once they had been high nobles, once, before his brother had gotten stupid and greedy. Ser Nathaniel had never blamed King Maric for what had happened, if anything, he blamed his brother.

Playing politics was one thing; openly assassinating a royal was something else…entirely.

No, his elder brother had gotten what he deserved, and now…so had Ser Nathaniel.

Once they were inside and settled in, the driver started off immediately, soon they would beyond the smell of fish and tar, and once again in the presence of the rich and powerful.

Nathaniel Glass awaited that moment with baited breath. The results of all his work these last few months would finally pay off. The Chancellor had been true to his word.

 _Now all that was needed was for his youngest to do her part._

He glanced over at her, a flicker of pleasure passed over his features.

From what he could see, his little Bea was already playing that part.

His daughter had… _changed_ since he had last seen her, she seemed more…comfortable in her place here in the capital. The gown she wore, though plain, hinted at the noble stature that was her right. Her hair, once worn up in a rather unattractive bun, now flowed gently down her shoulders, and unless he was mistaken, she was wearing just a hint of makeup, not enough to appear overdone, but just enough to enhance her features. He also caught the slight scent of perfume, an oddity when it came to his youngest.

Bea had never really been interested in her features. Her work had been her only love.

He fought the urge to smirk.

It seemed that her priorities had changed.

She shifted slightly in her seat; it was then that he noticed her gloves, cloak, and riding boots, unusual attire for such a short jaunt into the city.

He gave her an arched look, and motioned to her gloves.

His daughter smiled.

"Alas, I will not be able to stay long after the ceremony," she informed him, "Teryn Cousland is expecting me in Highever in two days."

She shrugged slightly.

"It is never a good idea to risk insulting a Teyrn."

"Indeed," her Father agreed, "I'm surprised that you would wait for my arrival at all. Surely, any delay might be costly."

Again, she shrugged.

"The Teyrn understands why I am delayed, after all…"

She placed her hand in her Father's, and gave it a warm squeeze.

"It is not every day that one's father is named the new Arl of Denerim."

Glass nodded as a fresh wave of pleasure washed over him.

 _The new Arl of Denerim._

 _It was almost more than he could have hoped for._

It was also the next step in his and the Chancellor's plan.

Bea's blood made her a fitting consort for a king, but the fact that the Glass family was not high nobles made such a union…a problem.

His elevation to Arl would change all that. No doubt there would still be some grumbling, but for the most part, the nobles of Ferelden would be appeased.

He frowned slightly.

If only Orlais could be appeased so easily.

Bea glanced his way, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Is something wrong, Papa?"

He gave her a wan smile.

"Just tired from my journey, my dear," he said, "Nothing to concern yourself about."

The young scholar frowned.

"Problems with the Chalons' family?" she inquired.

The question startled him, his eyes widened.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked.

Again, Bea shrugged.

"I have made friends, these last few months," she admitted.

He tilted his head.

"Friends?" he inquired.

"Yes," she repeated, "Friends."

He blinked.

"Anyone I know?" he asked.

"Unlikely," she replied.

Ser Nathaniel blinked, and tried to think of who might have told his daughter about the Chalons.

It was not commonly known.

Bea gave him a wan smile.

"Fear not Papa," she said soothingly, "My new friends are no threat to you, or to Ferelden."

She gave him a sly look, one he had worn himself many times.

He was not sure he liked seeing it on his youngest daughter, it was good that she was finally taking and interest in politics, but…

It made her unpredictable, and that was not likely a good thing.

"Trust me, Papa," she repeated, "They are not our enemies, and besides…"

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"They know things."

IOI

Bridget Glass almost sighed.

As much as she disliked keeping her Father in the dark, the answer to his question was not easily gained.

She had made a promise to Sister Leliana, and she was not about to break it.

Friends like the sister were not easily crossed, not even for family.

Since the Satinalia Ball, she had shared more than a few meals with the Chantry sister, and during that time, she had gotten to know the other woman rather well, or at least she thought she did.

Leliana, and yes she did feel comfortable enough now to refer to the woman by her first name, liked to play her cards close to her chest, but one thing was clear. She was very protective of King Alistair.

That at least was something that they had in common.

There first official meeting had been at breakfast the morning after the ball. His Majesty had been dining with the sister, and had chosen to introduce her to his old travelling companion. The sister, now clad in the robes of the chantry had said nothing of her visit the previous evening. Bea's experience with court politics in Orlais had made her wise enough not to volunteer such information to the king, not without the sister's permission.

Leliana had appreciated her discretion, and in the weeks that followed had rewarded the scholar for her silence.

The Nightingale had…acquaintances in Val Royeaux, acquaintances that continued to feed her information, which she shared not just with her old travelling companion, but with Bea as well.

It had been she who had warned Bea about the Chalons family. Grand Duke Gaspard was apparently, unhappy with the way that the King of Ferelden was conducting himself. He felt slightest because Alistair had sent no reply to his sister's suit to become his new queen. According to Leliana's contacts, officially, Grand Duchess Florianne had been extremely insulted, almost moved to tears. As a cousin of the Empress, she should have been considered first as one of the king's possible brides.

Bea had frowned when she heard that news. She had never met the Grand Duchess, but her taking the King's lack of attention as an insult seemed a bit overblown.

Leliana agreed.

According to the sister, the Chalons family was playing a much larger game, if Alistair **had** accepted the Grand Duchess' advances that would have put the Grand Duke into a position where he could make a move on his royal cousin. If his sister became Queen of Ferelden, then he could possibly offer the empire a chance to reclaim what they had long considered…a rebellious province.

If Alistair refused, or ignored the advances, the Chalons family could use the insult as an excuse to rattle the sword, so to speak. They could rally their allies against Ferelden and perhaps make a stronger case for going to war while Ferelden was still weak.

Bea had frowned when she heard that.

She had no desire to be the cause of a war, which might happen if the Orlesians decided to use her presence, not to mention the rumors about her and His Majesty as an excuse.

She had shaken her head.

It was bad for Ferelden, no matter how it turned out.

Fortunately, the Empress had intervened on their behalf; or rather Leliana's allies in the chantry had convinced her it was in her best interest to intervene.

The Empress had spoken before the court; there had been some problems along the Nevarran border, skirmishes between elements of the Nevarran army, and her chevaliers. Celene had decided to draw troops from the Ferelden border, to strengthen her position with Nevarra.

By that action the Chalons had lost the soldiers they would need to start trouble.

It was a minor victory, but the game was not over, not by a long shot.

Bea worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Grand Duke Gaspard was now making a bid to stop Orlesian aid to Ferelden and since her father was such a major part of recovery effort…

It was not hard to imagine herself as a target, that the Grand Duke might use her relationship with the King to reignite his call for war.

As a result, Bea had to be even more discreet around the king; she had no desire to give the rumor mill any more grist.

She shook her head.

She hated to admit it, but she had grown…fond of the King in the last few months. Leliana and Bann Shianni did not help matters. The elven noble was always inviting her to events where the king just happened to show up. When Leliana and the king had gone hunting a few weeks back, she had invited Bea on the sly. When the king saw her, there was nothing she could do to get out of it.

More and more, she and His Majesty were spending time together. Time that she enjoyed…

Even though she knew how bad it was for the country as a whole.

Leliana assured her that the rumors were not important. She was spending time with the King, so what? Empress Celene would not allow a war to break out over something as trivial as an imagined slight to her cousin, not when the Empress had more to lose than anyone else.

It made things difficult, but not impossibly so.

Ferelden would endure, and so…must she.

Bea sighed.

So she continued with her work. If the Orlesians did decide to cut aid to Ferelden, her work would be needed…more than ever. Teyrn Cousland recognized that.

His support would go a long way to quiet her many doubters.

Of course, those concerns were for another day.

Tonight was her father's success.

She would not let this evening be spoiled.

There would be time enough to deal with the Chalons.

Tonight was for House Glass.

Tonight…was for them.

IOI

Mother Allison stood quietly off to the side as the king named two new high nobles. The Grand Cleric, despite her failing health spoke to the assembled court. She offered the Maker's blessing on the elevation of these two brave souls, and asking for his protection of both them and their heirs.

The Revered Mother clapped when appropriate, but kept her true feelings hidden. The affairs of the nobles had no bearing on chantry affairs, the mothers were above such trivial things as politics, at least that is what was said.

Mother Allison…knew better.

She said nothing as Ser Nathaniel Glass became the new Arl of Denerim. She watched as the king elevated the man to rank of High nobility. The other Arl's clapped loudly, welcoming their new brother. If any had any qualms about him they kept such feelings to themselves, at least for now.

The Cleric watched them all, looking for any sign of displeasure.

Such emotions could be quite useful…later on.

As Arl Nathaniel stepped back, another noble stepped forward. She seemed out of place among this happy gathering, her black gown far too somber for the occasion, but that was not surprising.

Suicide had a way of killing most joy in any advancement.

Two weeks ago, Bann Esmerelle had been found dead in her Denerim estate. The noble woman had been visiting with her young cousin, as well as seeing to the restoration of the City of Amaranthine.

Her death had ended both engagements.

A week after the Bann's death, her will had been opened. What was discovered inside was…surprising to say the least.

The Bann had changed her will, she had left her immediate family with enough to live on, but that was it. The bulk of her holdings and title would pass to a most curious recipient.

The young noble bowed as the King proclaimed her the new Bann of Amaranthine. She was young, but that was not surprising, many young people had had to step up after the Blight but still…still…

Allison was still not sure.

When the girl finally rose she was smiling, it was a sad smile, but still…

Allison's eyes narrowed.

She knew a mask when she saw one, and the girl's sadness might just be that, a mask.

Bann Lorelei seemed a little too happy with her promotion…

…perhaps…too happy.

The mother clapped as the girl joined her fellows.

She would make a point of checking up on the girl later, but for now.

She had other business to attend to.

She once again found her eyes drifting towards the new Arl of Denerim, that and his family, his youngest daughter in particular.

The Mother tried not to smile.

She had tolerated the girl's presence here at court for too long, far too long.

Now…at long last, fate and the Maker were finally doing something about it.

She could not be more pleased if she tried.

The Orlesian ambassador knew that change was coming, and had passed on some of what he knew to her. The Chalons family, good Andrastians all had…plans for Ferelden.

Plans that could…benefit an ambitious young cleric provided she did what was expected of her.

It was not treason, oh no, the chantry was above such things. A priest's first job was to tend to her flock, to protect their souls.

Ridding the court of Bridget Glass would do just that.

The mother tried not to smile, what was coming would be hard… but alas, it was also necessary.

 _Andraste guide them all._

Ferelden needed Orlesian support, whether it admitted that fact or not. Someone who realized that ahead of everyone else could profit greatly from the changes to come.

Everyone knew that Divine Beatrix was not long for this world, when she finally went to the Maker's side; a new world would be born.

That new world would require bold action, people doing what they could to seize their just reward.

Allison knew that she could do that.

She could be bold, but first a sacrifice was required.

Something unnecessary needed to be cut away.

According to the Ambassador, that cutting would occur on the King's Road.

The concubine would never reach Highever.

The thought pleased Mother Allison.

She did not doubt the need for such an act.

Faith often asked hard choices of the faithful.

It was the way of the world.

It was…the Maker's will.

She smiled to herself.

His will…be done.


	24. Noble Matters

**Chapter 24: Noble Matters**

"So, how are matters between you and the king?"

Bea shot her sister a dirty look, already wishing that she had not allowed Margaret to come with her on this journey. The Teyrn of Highever had only asked to see her after all…

Yet Em had insisted on coming, wanting ever so much to meet dear Fergus Cousland.

In the end, the scholar had begrudgingly agreed.

"About as well as your first meeting with the Teyrn will go I suspect," Bea replied, "From what I hear, matters beyond finding a new wife consume his every waking moment these days."

Her elder sister frowned, unhappy with Bea's assumption of her intended mission. The scholar did not care.

More was at stake here than her sister's desire to find a suitable noble husband.

They had been on the road for little over a day now. Spring was in the air, but it was clear that it still had a long way to go before it arrived officially. Patches of green could be clearly seen through the sea of white, and a heavy mist cloaked most of the horizon.

Bea glanced around nervously; the king's road was dangerous enough these days.

The mist did not help, nor was the fact that their travel arrangements had been so…changed at the last minute.

Originally they had been set to travel with a full complement of Fereldan knights, those men had supposed to see them safely to the borders of Highever where a company of the Teyrn's men would take over. However that was not the case. A bout of food poisoning had struck the barracks the day the group had been expected to leave; poisoning that had left them now with only five knights defending them.

One of their father's allies had offered to hire mercenaries to fill in the gap. Bea, not wishing to keep Fergus Cousland waiting any longer accepted. The men their ally had sent seemed capable enough, but still Bea was left feeling that something was amiss.

She had spent enough time in Orlais to know when something might be wrong.

She might have scrubbed the trip entirely if not for the presence of Bann Shianni. The elven noble had been wishing to tour Highever's alienage for quite some time now. Her decision to accompany the two daughters of House Glass made that possible.

The Bann had brought her own people as well, elven fighters all. Em had been a little nervous at first, travelling with so many armed elves, no doubt fearing the tales of elven bandits preying on human nobles.

Bea however was not worried; Shianni had vouched for every one of her people, all veterans of the siege of Denerim.

That had been enough for Bea, now with more than enough defenders to protect them they pushed on towards the coast.

The Bann had said little during the course of their journey. This was the first time she had ever been outside of Denerim apparently, her head moved at a constant swivel, drinking in every pacing detail of the world around them.

A couple of times now, Bea and Em had come close to arguing, the elven noble had remained respectfully silent. What was being said here did not involve her after all.

She preferred to let the two sisters have at it.

Em shook her head.

"If you ask me sister you are being foolish," she said.

"Really," Bea replied with an arched eyebrow, "And how is that?"

Her elder sister frowned.

"Most women would jump at the chance to win their king's affection, yet you seem to view it as a burden at best, and a curse the least."

Bea shook her head in response.

"My behavior has nothing to do with the king's affection," she replied, "It has everything to do with the fact that Father is trying to force those affections, that he, and possibly several others, are trying to guide the king towards me in a most…inappropriate way."

Em snorted at her answer.

"What makes you think that Father is doing anything?"

"Because I'm neither blind nor dim," Bea answered.

Margaret's frown deepened.

"And even, for the sake of argument, that you are right, why is any of this inappropriate? It is not like Father is trying to sell you to the king for a chest of gold or something."

The Scholar shook her head; she wished that she could make her sister understand exactly what was going on.

This was not just about them. It was just not about House Glass.

The stakes were far much higher.

"It is inappropriate because I'm not just some lady of the court," she said, "I am a scholar and the king is my patron."

"Yes," Em replied, "So?"

"So," Bea sighed, "Everything I do for the king is being scrutinized. My work could save many lives, help bring Ferelden back to the state it enjoyed before the Blight."

The scholar took a deep breath.

"My work is needed; it cannot afford to be compromised by my personal feelings."

She shook her head again.

"Like I said there is too much at stake."

Bea frowned.

"More and more it feels like I'm some victim in a plot, and I don't like it."

She gave her sister a cool look.

"Certainly you can understand that, I trust?"

Em digested that for a moment, no doubt considering how best to reply, or at the very least come up with an argument better than Bea had a duty to her family, to continue what they had all worked so long and hard for.

Em might not have been the most learned of girls, but she certainly took a shot at dealing with her younger sister's argument.

"Let us put your work aside for a moment, shall we, and try to look at this at a pure noble perspective."

Bea shrugged. She was at least willing to humor her sister in this.

"You claim that father is conspiring against you, trying to force you and the king together?"

"I fear that is so," Bea replied.

Em gave her an arched look.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why," Bea repeated, her brow furrowing.

"Yes sister, why," Em continued, "If what you fear is so, why are you so against it?"

Bea's eyes narrowed.

"Should I not be against being manipulated?"

"I would say that it depends on the situation," Em said with a shrug, "If father is doing this, _if_ , then how is he any different than any other noble father in Thedas?"

Bea opened her mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly.

What Em was saying…was true, it might have bothered her, but it was true.

Margaret sighed.

"Is it so wrong to want to see you in a good marriage? Is it so cruel to maneuver you into a marriage you will find pleasurable, not to mention profitable for you loved ones?"

Bea frowned again.

"I don't believe that my happiness was a consideration," she said, "Father saw an opportunity and he took it, regardless of my feelings."

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"I still don't see what your problem is with all this," she replied, "It is not like father is asking you to marry some eighty year old wreck with a hunchback, gout, and bad breath."

Bea smirked slightly.

"I thought father was not trying to marrying me off?"

" **That is** _ **not**_ **the point,"** Em snarled, "The point is…I…I… **Maker's breath sister** , look at our king! **Take a good long hard look at King Alistair!"**

Bea glanced around at the men; they continued to ignore the two noble women, not wishing to let their opinions known.

Shianni remained silent, simply watching the misty countryside.

She glanced again at her elder sister.

Em was glaring now.

"Are you seriously going to tell me that you would find _nothing_ pleasurable about a union with King Alistair, that you find nothing attractive about him? That you have not even thought about what it might be like to…to…"

Em sighed.

"Are you seriously going to tell me that if the king offered himself to you, you would say no?"

Bea blinked.

It was a question she had preferred not to think about.

 _Did she find the king attractive?_

Yes, who wouldn't, they had spent the last few months living almost across the hall from each other. In all that time, he had been nothing but a gentleman to her. He believed in her work, and treated her with the utmost respect, but she…she…

She swallowed hard.

 _If the king offered himself to her, would she say no?_

That…that was a good question, a very good question indeed.

Bea pursed her lips.

There had been times, in the last few months that she had…been _watching_ the king. She had stood near a small window in the palace and watched him training with his guards in the palace courtyard. She…she had…

Bea swallowed hard again.

Alistair, His Majesty, was a creature of habit, and she had gotten to know those habits quite well. Every morning before breakfast he was up training, rain or shine, cold or warm.

He stood in the courtyard bare chested, going through training drills with a sword and shield, and she…she…

Bea blushed.

She…she could not deny it. As she had stood there, watching, staring at those broad shoulders, that firm toned body…she…she…

She licked her lips.

She had felt her heart quicken, and a warmth spreading through her, starting low in belly and working its way down. She…she

She had often dismissed such feelings. _Art appreciation_ , nothing more, but in her weaker moments, she…she…

She shook her head.

Such habits were none of Em's business.

"Pardon me ladies," Bann Shianni called out.

Both Glass girls turned.

The elf gave them a slight smile.

"Our escorts from Highever have arrived."

Both Em and Bea glanced up; they could see a group of riders emerging from the mists ahead of them, one of them carrying a flag bearing the sigil of House Cousland.

There escort had indeed arrived.

IOI

The lead knight called them to a halt; he rode forward to greet the newcomers.

Shianni stood tall in the saddle; she had only recently gotten company riding a horse.

She did not wish to embarrass herself before the newcomers.

She could have ridden in a carriage she supposed, but she preferred the speed of her own horse. If trouble started a single rider would make less of a target than a large carriage.

She was not a fool; she knew that there were many nobles who did not like the fact that she was the Bann of the Alienages.

No one had tried to harm her, yet, but if Kallian had taught her anything it was to be wary.

It was a trait shared by the leader of her company, an elven mercenary who had seen a lot of work in Orlais and Nevarra.

It was likely wariness that saved their lives today.

The elf blinked his ears lowered slightly.

"Something is not right, Milady," he whispered.

Shianni glanced his way; his hand was already going to the hilt of his sword.

The Bann's eyes narrowed.

"What is wrong?" she asked, her hands tightening on the reigns.

The elven mercenary pursed his lips.

"We were told to expect a full company from Highever," he answered.

"Yeah," Shianni answered, "So?"

"So," the mercenary replied, "That is **not** a full company approaching, it is not even half."

Shianni considered that, even as she glanced at their escort.

Something was definitely wrong.

The humans, excluding the knights were subtlety changing positions. The five knights the king had sent might not have noticed it yet, so occupied as they were I the arrivals from Highever.

Shianni's eyes narrowed.

Those old danger senses from her days in the Alienage were now blazing bright.

She whispered to her captain.

"Move our people around the Glass girls," she ordered.

The leader gave his Bann a surprised look.

"Milady?"

"Humor me," she said.

The mercenary nodded and signaled to his fellows.

Three of them moved up, their horses now shielding Bea and Em.

Still the riders from Highever drew closer.

Shianni swallowed hard. She pulled a wicked looking dagger out of her belt, the same one she had carried during the siege of Denerim, one she had used to slit the throat of an over eager hurlock.

She rode up closer to the nearest human mercenary. He did not pay her much attention.

She noticed his hand was on his weapon, he seemed ready, almost eager to draw it.

It was then that the approaching Highever men threw down their colors and drew their blades.

A battle cry went up.

The human mercenaries who had accompanied the Glass girls turned on the knights, the man who had rode out to meet Highever men was struck in the back by a crossbow bolt.

Two more knights were beheaded as the traitors turned and to join the attack, leaving Shianni the Glasses and her elven guard surrounded.

" **KILL HER!"** the leader of the advancing Highever men shouted.

" **DEATH TO THE CONCUBINE,"** another shouted.

The elves moved to defend their mistress and her fellow nobles.

Steel met steel.

The whole world went mad.

The trap had been sprung.


	25. Ambush

**Chapter 25: Ambush**

" **RIDE!"**

Shianni lunged at her target, the man, so focused on the few remaining knights and elven bodyguards had not even noticed her.

She buried her dagger to the hilt in the back of his neck, in that sweet spot between the helmet and chest plate, the mercenary jerked back causing his horse to rear before throwing him off making even more panic.

Shianni cursed, having lost her dagger she was now unarmed, but what was worse were Ladies Bridget and Margaret.

They simply sat there in the saddle, lost in shock and fear, prey animals frozen as the predator raced across the field towards them.

" **WAKE UP SHEMS!"** the Bann shouted.

Bridget recovered first she darted a quick look at the Bann, all around them people were fighting and dying.

"This way," Shianni shouted, the death of the man close to her had opened a small gap in their betrayers circle, it would not last long, but it might be enough.

" **This way,"** the elven noble shouted turning her horse.

Bridget Glass responded first, she turned and started to follow.

Margaret remained frozen.

Shianni made it through the gap and turned to look back, she could see the younger girl fighting with the elder, trying to pull her after them.

So far their enemies were too busy fighting with Shianni's guards and the few remaining knight to notice, but that would not last long.

"Come on," she hissed under her breath.

Bridget pulled harder on her sister's arm.

" **COME ON!"**

Margaret Glass' horse reared, nearly dumping her on the ground, her sister did manage to pull her onto the back of her own steed, and quickly followed after Shianni.

The two women made it through the gap, just as a pair of warriors tried to break off their attack and come after them.

One of Shianni's men blocked their path, wounding one and driving the other back.

Shianni saw the man take a crossbow bolt in the neck; he reared in his saddle, no longer able to help them.

She did not wait to see the brave man fall.

She turned her horse and rode for all it was worth, the Glass girls, now on a single horse behind her.

Shianni frowned.

She still did not like their chances.

They were outmanned, and outnumbered, if her guards did not prevail…

Their attackers would run them down like grass.

Somehow the younger Glass girl managed to get their horse to catch up with hers. The poor animal was struggling under the extra weight, but still was doing its best.

" _What is going on!"_ she heard one of the girl's cry out.

The elven Bann's eyes narrowed.

It was a good question.

An arrow whizzed past her head.

Perhaps they would live long enough to get the answer.

IOI

Em was terrified, practically wailing in her ear.

Bea tried to ignore it; she was a decent rider but…

This was hardly the kind of riding she was used to.

Another arrow whizzed past them, she hoped that they were out of the range of the crossbows the men carried now, but a lucky arrow could still end their lives just as quickly.

Bea was terrified; her heart was pounding in her chest. Part of her could not believe she was still moving, that they were all still alive.

 _We are not warriors,_ she thought.

Neither she, nor Em was used to this kind of violence. Her scholar's mind refused to stop working, evaluating what she had seen so far.

The men from Highever were attacking them, why?

Their own men had turned on them, why?

Behind them over the din, their attackers had finally noticed their escape.

The survivors rode in pursuit, shouting war cries and raising their weapons.

Bea struck her horse in the flank, urged it faster, but with Em's added weight, there was little the poor beast could do.

"KILL HER!"

"DEATH TO THE CONCUBINE!"

Their attackers' words pierced Bea's soul.

Clearly these men were not after Bann Shianni and Em. Obviously, these men were not bandits looking to rob them.

She almost sobbed.

 _It's me_ , she thought with a whimper.

 _They are here to kill me!_

 _Why?_

Another arrow flew past her head; Bea ducked down lower, trying to be less of a target.

The chase continued.

 _Why?_

IOI

They were riding hard across an open field, their pursuers gaining quickly.

Shianni did not like their chances at all.

There were trees in the distance, those might offer some cover, but she suspected that they would never make it; their attackers would overtake them long before they reached those woods, and even if they did reach them. The trees would slow their mounts making it far easier for the attackers to surround them and finish them off, and they were all unarmed.

The elven noble shook her head.

They were damned either way.

If they could get some kind of lead, get out of eyeshot, maybe they could find a way to hide in the woods, back track back to the road, and get help, unlikely given the speed of their pursuers, but…

She heard a shriek behind her.

She dared look back.

One of the men had seized the elder Glass girl by her cloak and was trying to yank her off. The younger girl turned her horse just enough to bring its flank into the pursuer's mount's front legs.

The horse stumbled and the rider lost his grip.

Not a bad move, Shianni thought with a hint of a smile, but it was not enough.

She frowned.

From behind, to the north she saw a full company of armed men approaching, also wearing Highever colors, coming to join the attack, reinforcements for their attackers, no doubt.

Shianni cursed under her breath.

Whatever happened she would not make it easy for these bastards.

 _She had not fought hard enough against Vaughan and his cronies._

Her eyes narrowed.

 _She would fight_ _ **harder**_ _today!_

If she was to die she would make damn sure that these bastards knew that they had paid for her life!

The reinforcements were riding hard, several of the men already had crossbows out, as soon as they came into range, it would be all over.

The newcomers' fired…

…Straight into the middle of nobles' attackers. Panicked cries went up from the surviving ambushers.

From the front of the newcomers a different war cry went up, but no more brazen then the ones from the men behind them.

" **FOR HIGHEVER**!" the leader shouted.

" **HIGHEVER!"** the men around him responded.

Shianni almost sobbed with relief.

 _It seems their_ _ **real**_ _escort had arrived._

If they were in time well…that remained to be seen, they…

Something struck the elven Bann from behind, she gasped at the pain that coursed through her.

She slumped forward as their attackers finally caught up with them, just as Highever's men reached them and the world turned bloody again.

Shianni did not see it; something struck her in the head.

She fell from her horse…

…after that…darkness.

IOI

Margaret shrieked as their horse was struck mortally by an arrow.

The poor animal pitched forward, spilling both sisters to the ground…hard.

Bea shook her head, trying to clear it, behind her Em lay moaning pathetically holding her leg.

The scholar crawled over to her sister, trying to pull her out of the fray. All around them knights and mercenaries clashed.

Em cried out as Bea drug her next to their fallen mount, the elder Glass' leg was bent at the wrong angle, she whimpered with every breath.

Bea's eyes darted around them, looking for a place to hide, but they were still too far from the wooded area, on an open plain with battle going on all around them.

She shook her head.

The only thing they could do was try and stay out of the way.

 _We are not warriors._

The captain of the Highever soldiers was knocked from his horse, yet that did nothing to stop him. He rose quickly drawing a great sword with a blade almost as long as she was tall. One of their false guards tried to ride the warrior down.

He paid for that.

The Captain dropped down and severed the man's horse's front legs, sending him flying over their heads. No sooner had the soldier from Highever dispatched that threat that he wheeled on the next, seizing a crossbowman that had gotten too close to the fighting, and tore him to the ground. The Captain did not even bother using his sword; he simply struck the man with a hard gauntleted fist.

The bowman lay still.

Bea shook her head.

The Highever warrior was a giant, six and a half feet tall at least. A silver helm bearing the laurels of the Highever hid the warrior's features as he barked orders to his fellows. He…

"HARLOT! YOU DIE!"

Bea shrieked as one of the false soldiers tried to attack her. She dodged barely avoiding the sword strike that would have taken her head.

Bea glanced around the battlefield, looking for a place to flee…there was none.

She whimpered.

They were not warriors.

The would-be assassin was grinning at her, holding his bloody blade, his eyes hungry, eagerly awaiting the coming kill.

Bea began to back pedal, she tripped and fell to the ground.

The man lunged.

Bea grabbed for what she had tripped over, a large kite shield.

She brought it up before her.

The killer's blade thunked against its surface, but did not go through.

The assassin snarled and swung again and again.

Still be blocked, she was screaming for aid, but no one heard her.

Their defenders were far too occupied.

The bottom section of the shield splintered. The man focused his attack there.

The bottom half of her shield broke away.

Bea who had been struggling to regain her feet once again found herself shoved back down.

The man kicked at the damaged shield forcing it away.

He raised his blade, ready to bring it down on the scholar's heart.

A crossbow bolt struck the killer in the face, the projectile easily piercing his eye socket.

The killer staggered, his weapon fell from his hands.

He collapsed near his would be victim.

Bea lay there gasping for breath, sobbing with relief and fear.

She looked around the field once again; she might not have been a warrior, but…

It looked like the tide had turned.

All around them the mercenaries were starting to scatter the few that weren't now found themselves badly outnumbered. The false Highever men, their armor slightly different from the real escorts were easy prey for the Highever Captain and his men.

These men did not even try to retreat; they fought on trying to get through the protective perimeter the Highever soldiers were starting to form around the wounded nobles.

Bea saw the Captain cut down another of their attackers; the giant was a force of nature. No one seemed to be able to stop him.

It was then that Bea saw it; one of the false Highever soldiers, the man was wounded but clearly not dead.

He had a long wicked looking blade in his hand slowly, slithering like a snake he was trying to sneak up on the Highever Captain.

Bea's eyes narrowed.

I am no warrior.

That did not matter.

She was scared yes, but…

But…

She picked up the broken shield and shrieked.

 _She was angry!_

 _ **ENRAGED!**_

 _How dare these bastards attack them!_

 _How dare they try to harm her!_

 _How dare they injure her sister!_

 _How DARE they!_

Bea's world turned red, **blood** red!

The wounded killer turned, he tried to bring up his blade.

He was not fast enough.

Bea struck him hard across the face, sending blood and teeth flying. The man slumped down.

The scholar was not done.

How **DARE** they!

She wailed like a shriek!

She brought the shield up and down, up and down.

The point of the broken edge made even more lethal by her furious strength.

 _How_ _ **DARE**_ _they!_

IOI

The Highever Captain turned, ready to defend himself, but even as it was done, the veteran knew that the turn was too slow. The warrior had noticed the killer trying to sneak up from behind, noticed, but was far too late.

Too close, the Captain realized far too close.

I'll take an injury, the veteran thought, but hopefully it would not be mortal.

The warrior never got the chance.

What the Captain saw gave the warrior pause.

It would have given anyone pause.

This small dark haired noble woman in a fine dress, bringing a broken shield down again and again on the head and neck of her attacker, she struck with a fury unchecked.

She shrieked like a wild animal, the kind of shriek that would scare even the stoutest of hearts.

The Captain's weapon lowered.

The girl had likely saved a life today, the Captain's.

The warrior would not forget that.

The girl continued to shriek continued to attack, the man's head was no longer there, his leg spasmed with each strike.

The Captain stepped up.

"Milady, it is over," the warrior said.

"It is over."

The Captain grabbed the shield.

The noble woman glared up, looking ready to continue the attack.

The warrior took a step back, not wanting to startle the clearly hysterical and armed young woman.

The warrior raised her hands.

"It is over," she repeated.

IOI

Bea whimpered her face and hands covered in the killer's blood.

She wheezed, trying to get breath back into her.

She…she…

She looked down at her bloody hands.

Oh Maker!

What had she done!

The Highever Captain planted his weapon in the bloody ground, the giant held out a gauntleted hand.

"It is over," the warrior repeated.

Bea looked around, she saw only Highever men around her, real Highever men, some on horseback, most now on foot.

Bea swallowed hard and handed her shield to the warrior, who took it gingerly.

The giant laid it on the ground before them.

Bea was shaking, but slowly her mind was starting to work again.

She giggled slightly.

They were alive.

She giggled again.

They were safe.

A rider rode up to the giant of an officer.

The warrior straightened.

"The remaining attackers have fled Lis, shall we pursue?"

"No," the officer said, "Secure the area while we see to the wounded Hammond, and see if any of these bastards still live."

The giant looked down at the man Bea had pulped.

"Perhaps one of them can give us some answers."

"Yes Captain," he said with a salute, and rode off.

The giant warrior sighed, and stepped up to Bea.

The scholar whimpered and tried to crawl away.

"It is okay," the warrior soothed, "You are safe now, we are friends."

The warrior removed his helmet.

Bea gasped.

The face was not what she expected.

Short reddish brown hair, cut short, but feathered out about mid ear, giving a more feminine appearance, strong cheek bones, and stern yet compassionate eyes, but that was not what surprised her.

No, what surprised her was that the giant was not a he at all.

He…was in fact a **she** , a young woman, a giantess to be sure, but a woman none the less.

The warrior woman gave her a respectful bow.

"I'm Elissa Cousland," She said, "I take it you are Lady Glass?"

Bea nodded dumbly.

The warrior smiled.

"I wish it was under better circumstances, Milady," she said with a chagrinned look, "But…"

She picked up her blade, and cleaned it off.

She sheathed her sword as she helped Bea to her feet.

"Welcome to Highever, Lady Glass."


	26. The Royal Thing

**Chapter 26: The Royal Thing**

Alistair was a creature of habit.

That was not surprising really, considering his upbringing. Stable boy, ward of the Chantry, Templar, Grey Warden, all those lives revolved around routines and schedules.

He had come to like schedules, took comfort in them.

They reminded him of who he was, and where he had come from, he needed that now.

He had no intention of letting be king go to his head.

His royal duties took up much of his time, but that did not mean that he didn't have time for own regiment.

He would rise an hour before dawn for meditation and then sword training. During his years in the chantry, that had been his life. His Templar skills had slipped a bit, he could not deny that, but since he refused to take lyrium, which was to be expected. After his workout, he would then return to his quarters to clean up and catch some breakfast. It had taken a bit, but cooks finally recognized what was needed to sate a former Grey Warden's appetite.

He smirked at the very thought.

 _It was good that the palace kept such a well-stocked larder._

During the Blight, he had been forced to change his routine, he had not really liked that, but it was necessary while he and his friends lived their lives on the run. After all, what was an interruption in one's personal routine compared with the safety of the world?

Not that it had been all bad of course.

He smiled slightly.

Kallian…she…she had liked making love right before sunrise. Often he would wake in their tent feeling her fingers running seductively down his chest, feeling her warm feather soft kisses on his neck, and lips.

The thought brought a slight blush to his cheeks.

 _Somethings_ _ **were**_ _worth breaking one's routine for._

As it often did, thinking of Kallian brought a dull ache to his chest, not the crippling grief that had once suffused him, but…it was clearly still there.

He shook his head.

It seemed that Kallian would always be in his thoughts, one way or the other. He was healing, starting to move on…but…

He would always carry her in his heart, an ember of what they had once shared.

He loved her, would likely always love her, he did not deny that, but such intense pain could not remain forever. It had changed.

Leliana had tried to convince him that that was a good thing.

As he left the royal chambers after her breakfast he found himself glancing down the hallway, toward the room not far down from his own…

…The Lady Bea's room.

He pursed his lips. In the last few months, it had become part of his routine to bump into the pretty young scholar as she made her way up to the tower labs to begin her work for the day.

She would close the door behind her, clad in her scholar's robes, her hair pulled up into that intense bun; she only wore that now when she was working.

He would smile and wish her a good morning.

She would turn, bow her head, and curtsey as he approached.

"Your Majesty," she would cooed.

"Lady Glass," he would reply.

She would rise and they would walk together, at least as far as the stairs that led to her lab space. They would talk occasionally, she would update him on her latest experiments, and he would pretend that he understood everything that she was saying.

He chuckled.

That was a challenge in itself.

He knew that there were many men who would not like the thought of interacting with a woman who was so much cleverer than they. Lady Glass saw the world in a way that he never could.

That did not make it wrong; Alistair was nowhere near narcissistic enough to consider he knew how the world worked. In fact, he often felt like was the last person to find out.

He sighed.

In the last few months, he had come to respect Bridget Glass more and more. She was not only an intelligent woman, but likely there best hope to get the Blighted lands in the south up and thriving again. If the plants she was growing could do half of what she claimed…

Ferelden would likely be back on the road to a full recovery. This would free them from their dependence on Orlesian food stuffs, which would allow Ferelden to start to chart its own path again.

In a way it was ironic, the Glass family had made their name on Orlesian trade, now their youngest daughter was working to lessen it, to make Ferelden strong again.

He smiled slightly.

In many of the nobles' eyes, that was reason enough to support the Lady Glass' work.

He passed by the closed door. Bea was currently on her way to Highever, she would be back in a couple of weeks.

Alistair pursed his lips.

It was going to be strange, not greeting the Lady every morning. Those little meetings had become part of his routine. He found that he would miss their little interactions, and would be pleased when she finally made her return.

 _Is that all you're going to miss, your little…interactions?_

The King frowned.

Usually he only heard that little voice in the back of his head when he had screwed up in some major way.

The fact that he was hearing it now…was troubling.

 _Are you really that dense,_ the voice continued?

Alistair didn't respond.

Are you really going to deny that your interest in the Lady Glass goes beyond the…academic?

Alistair shook his head.

It was true that he…enjoyed the lady's company, he had enjoyed their dance during the Satinalia Ball, but that was all it was.

 _And you don't enjoy the guilty pleasure of watching her that_ little voice chimed in, _you don't…on some level get turned on by that little submissive bow she gives you when you greet her the morning. You don't enjoy watching those swaying hips as she makes her way up the stairs?_

The King swallowed hard.

He…he could not deny that he did watch her as she went up the stairs to the tower. Had Wynne been here…she likely would have teased him mercilessly about his…little ritual. The evil old woman had loved watching him squirm.

He shook his head.

Was it really so bad? Bea was a beautiful girl. Why could he not enjoy watching that beauty from afar? it was not like he was stalking her or something?

He sighed.

 _Is that truly all you want?_

 _Is watching from afar all you truly desire?_

He pursed his lips.

He really did not want to think about that, not right now.

He moved a little quicker, made his way down to the throne room.

It was early, but no doubt Eamon had already scheduled him to meet with at least a few of his subjects.

The King sighed again.

He still did not believe he was any good at the whole…royal thing, still he tried.

That was all that he could do.

IOI

"You have my word, Your Majesty. Amaranthine will do everything in its power to ensure the reconstruction of Vigil's Keep."

Alistair sat on the throne, to his right stood Chancellor Eamon, to his left Wilbur Rich, his new Secretary. Both men said little as dealt with his first two guests of the morning.

The first, poor thing looked completely out of her league.

Bann Lorelei kept her head down as she addressed him. The girl, only having recently turned sixteen, found herself with more wealth and power than anyone so young should be forced to take responsibility for.

For months the girl had charmed Denerim, and more than a few members of the royal court, now with the suicide of Bann Esmerelle she had been forced to do more than simply charm the masses.

Now she actually had to rule her holdings.

That was easier said than done.

"I appreciate your support Bann Lorelei," the king said, trying to reassure her, "As, I'm sure, Warden Commander Caron does as well."

The young girl giggled nervously.

"I pray that you are right, Your Majesty," she continued, "We have all endured so much in Amaranthine. So many perished during the darkspawn attack on both Amaranthine, and Vigil's Keep, we are rebuilding, but it will take time, so much was lost."

The girl shook her head.

"We are so grateful for your continued support; it means so much to me. I…"

Wilbur Rich cut her off.

"We understand Bann Lorelei," he said with that cold smile of his.

"You are **soooo** grateful."

The girl lowered her head, blushing profusely.

A nervous giggle escaped her lips.

Alistair winced.

He had lost count of how many times the girl had used the word…"So."

Eamon, surprisingly, came to the girl's rescue.

"We must not be so hard on the Bann, Mister Secretary," he said, "Lady Lorelei is still young, and unused to addressing the court."

He gave the girl a reassuring smile.

"In time, you will become more comfortable, I promise."

The girl beamed with gratitude.

"Thank you Chancellor," she replied, "Your kind words mean so…um…I'm humbled by your kind words and understanding."

Alistair nodded.

He was a bit surprised that Eamon came to the girl's rescue. It might have been a political move of course. Even as damaged as it was by the darkspawn, the port of Amaranthine was still the jewel of that Arling.

Lorelei's wealth would go a long way to rebuilding what the wardens had lost when the darkspawn sacked Vigil's Keep.

Of course, Eamon's motivations might also have been not so…altruistic. Secretary Rich's comment to the girl was enough to prompt that response. The Chancellor made no bones about the fact that he was unhappy with the man's promotion.

Still Alistair had taken the man in. Will's contacts were valuable, and he would much rather have the man close where he could keep an eye on him.

He would much rather have Rich working for Ferelden then off doing his own thing.

It was better that way, smarter too.

The crown had enough enemies right now; they did not need to add to them.

Bann Lorelei, curtseyed as she was dismissed, no sooner had she began to leave when two hard looking young men came up behind her as escorts, bodyguards the king assumed.

The King watched the young noble woman leave, his brow furrowed, as it often did when he was deep in thought.

He replayed the encounter over in his head. The Bann had done nothing wrong; she had seemed to be a nervous young woman who had asked to see her king.

Still…there was this nagging tingling in the back of his mind, a feeling that something was not quite what it seemed.

He had learned to trust feeling; it had saved his life more than once during the Blight.

It had saved all of them.

The new Bann of Amaranthine was something of a mystery to him. Everything he had heard suggested that she possessed a cool politically astute mind, but here, she had just played at being an innocent, with little guile or cunning of her own.

The Bann clearly was a good actress, whether she was acting smarter than she was, or if the whole innocent thing was an act remained to be seen.

She had come here asking if he could arrange a meeting between her and Warden Commander Caron. The Bann was…nervous about approaching the Commander herself.

She had hoped that Alistair might…accelerate the matter.

It was not so unusual a request, but surprising considering what he had heard about the girl.

Bann Lorelei was said to be a charmer, surely she could find a way to charm her way into the Warden Commander's good graces. It was not like she needed his support, to speak with her liege lord?

He would need to keep an eye on the Bann, he realized, just in case.

HE would put Mister Rich on it as soon as they had a chance to speak in private.

For now, he still had more business to attend to.

Arl Nathaniel Glass of Denerim was here.

He had a favor to ask.

"As you may well know, Your Majesty," the new Arl of Denerim began, "My eldest son Arland is currently serving in the military, helping patrol the border between here and Orlais."

The Arl smiled innocently.

"I was hoping that you might grant him a temporary leave from his duties. A task has come up that I find myself requiring an agent I can trust."

The King smiled.

"Business or personal, Your Grace," he inquired.

"A bit of both, Your Majesty," the Arl replied.

Alistair nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Glass nodded and proceeded on.

"Recently I have entered into a marriage contract with Arl Wulfe of the Western Hills. The Arl lost both his heirs during the Blight, and now finds himself needing to turn to one of his nieces to help carry on the reign."

"You wish your eldest boy to marry the girl?" Eamon asked.

"Actually," The Arl continued, "My youngest boy Quentin is now betrothed to the young lady Wulfe. I require Arland's services to escort both the girl and her dowry from the City of Cumberland in Nevarra."

Glass gave the three of them a sly smile.

"I'm certain you can understand why I need Arland for this. Family matters…they can be so…so… personal."

Alistair nodded. He understood the value of discretion, especially in a matter such as this.

Blood was the best defense against sabotage in matters of noble matrimony, or so he had been told.

To be honest, he was surprised that Arl Wulfe had consented to the match. Arl Glass might have been a man on the rise…but…

Alistair's eyes narrowed.

There was a reason why the Arling of Denerim had been without a ruler for so long. Some of the nobles had started to claim that the title had been cursed, that the actions of the late Vaughan Kendals had jinxed the once profitable title.

 _Vaughan had been murdered, his father died at Ostagar. Arl Howe had been murdered in his own dungeon._

You could see why the nobles were a bit…nervous about taking over the Arling, or getting involved with anyone who did.

Arl Wulfe likely had no better option, with both his sons dead he needed to forge new alliances. As for Arl Glass, it was an excellent political move, he already had Denerim, if his son produced an heir with Lady Wulfe, the child would have claim on both Denerim and West Hill.

 _It would be a profitable alliance to be sure._

Alistair turned to Wilbur Rich.

"See what we can do, about locating young Mister Glass?"

"As you wish, Your Majesty," the secretary said with a slight bow.

Arl Glass beamed.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he purred, "Your generosity is most appreciated."

Alistair smiled.

"Think nothing of it, Your Grace," he said, "I'm merely helping a loyal servant of the crown."

Rich might have snorted at that comment, Alistair could not really say.

He would ask the man about it later.

For now…he had more business to attend to.

No sooner had Arl Glass left than his next appointment arrived.

Alistair winced.

He would have to check in with the Arl of Denerim later. Make sure that Bea had arrived in Highever all right.

For now, he had other business.

He sighed heavily.

The royal thing was never done.


	27. Ladies

**Chapter 27: Ladies**

There was a debriefing going on in the Teyrn's throne room within Highever Castle.

Bea stood outside in the hall, once again clad in her scholar's robes, with her hair done up in a tight bun. Both Margaret and Shianni were still being tended to by the castle healers. Margaret had a broken leg, and had likely hurt her ribs. Shianni had taken a bolt in the shoulder and had been struck over the head.

The healers expected both to make a full recovery. Bea had been fortunate, she had only suffered minor cuts and scrapes, but that did not mean that she was completely…fine.

She winced as she looked down at her hands.

She still had blood under her fingernails.

She had scrubbed her hands after the fighting had ended. She had scrubbed until her hands were red and pruney, yet still she could not help but feel…soiled.

A shiver ran down her spine.

The memory of the attack played over and over in her head. She kept seeing the face of the assassin, the one who had tried to sneak up on Lady Cousland.

She…she…

She suppressed a whimper.

 _Andraste save me_ , she thought.

 _What have I_ _ **done?!**_

She…she had killed a man, actually killed someone, she…she still could not believe that she was capable of such an act.

She swallowed hard.

That was not something that was easy to forget…

… _Especially not when she still had blood under her fingernails._

She shook her head and took a deep breath. She still had work to do after all.

She was trying to focus on that.

Teyrn Cousland had given her leave to check on her plants. Fortunately, her clothes, experiments and research notes had been sent on ahead in a separate caravan, had they not, it was likely the would-be assassins would have destroyed them in their mad rush to kill Bea and the rest of their party.

The Scholar frowned.

The Teyrn had been…polite enough to her, but she could not escape the feeling that he was angry with his sister, more than angry, closer to **furious.**

She would have spoken on the tall woman's behalf, but the Teyrn had dismissed her, saying that he needed to speak with his younger sister alone.

Bea stood patiently waiting at the door, she could hear the Teyrn berating her even through the door, it wasn't an argument that was certain.

Whatever her reason, Elissa Cousland was taking her brother's tongue lashing and not even trying to defend herself.

Considering what she had seen on the road, that surprised her, Lis Cousland had been a force of nature, to see her struck dumb by anyone…

It was surprising to say the least.

So…she stayed, waiting for the other woman to emerge.

Bea knew a little about angering a noble sibling.

She would be there to help…if she could.

Lis she suspected…

…might need it.

IOI

"I am displeased sister," Fergus Cousland growled.

He crossed his arms across his chest.

"More… than displeased."

Lis tried not to quail under her brother's regard. It was nothing new to her at this point. Since his return to Highever, Fergus Cousland had grown colder than a Frostback peak in the dead of winter.

She stood rail straight, not wanting him to see that he was getting to her.

All her life she had had to be strong. Her size and strength, both boons on the battlefield, did not serve her well in noble circles. Once upon a time, Fergus had been one of her greatest supporters…now…

He was just like everyone else.

"You have every right to be displeased, brother," she said flatly, "When one of our patrols went missing last week, you tasked me with the job of finding out what had happened. When we found the bodies, their uniforms missing, I should have suspected that there was more than simple thievery afoot."

She gripped her helmet tighter, hoping he would not see how uncomfortable his tongue-lashing was making her.

She could not show fear, it would only further anger him, she knew that much.

She had no desire to provoke her brother further.

She knew what would happen if she did.

The Teyrn paced around her, while she stood at attention before the throne. Fergus had done much to restore Highever Castle since the Blight had ended. It had taken some doing, but the stench of Rendon and Thomas Howe was finally gone.

Yet, Fergus remained unsatisfied. Over he last few months he had devoted much of his time to scoop up any surviving How loyalists in their Teynir. When he had discovered that Delilah Howe was living as a merchant's wife in the city of Amaranthine, it was all that Lis could do to convince her brother not to send assassins after the girl.

Delilah had had no part in Howe's mischief; she knew that for a fact. When she had been the Arl's captive, it had been Delilah who did what she could to make sure that Lis survived her father's cruelty.

It had been the only comfort that Lis had had those many dark months. She had watched her parents die in front of her. The only reason she had lived was because it amused her old "Uncle" Rendon. He had wanted to hear Bryce's Cousland's ox of a daughter scream.

She had tried to deny him that, but in the end, they all screamed.

She shook her head.

 _Uncle Rendon?_

The mere name made her almost vomit now. Howe had been like family once, but in doing Loghain's dirty work he had destroyed any connection he might have enjoyed with his fellow nobles.

The man had died a pariah, unmourned; he had gone to the flames. It was almost too good for him she thought, but that did not mean she wanted to see every Howe destroyed.

Delilah was an innocent, her new born babe, also an innocent. Nathaniel she heard was a Grey Warden now, doing what he could to make up for his father's cruelty.

Fergus had been furious at her for defending them, but she had still stood firm.

Fergus' anger might make her quail, but it was nothing new.

He was always angry at her these days.

Fergus snorted and continued her debriefing.

"What did you learn about these raiders?" he demanded.

"That they were likely more than mere bandits," she responded, "there weapons were beyond simple Highever stock. The few that survived the battle chose death over interrogation, ingesting poison rather than undergo interrogation, the one that we prevented from taking his own life bit off his own tongue to prevent being questioned.

Lis shook her head.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that this was not so much as a raid against three nobles, but likely a sanctioned profession assassination attempt, likely Antivan Crows or the Orlesian House of Riposte."

Fergus's eyes narrowed.

"What evidence do you have led you to that conclusion?"

"During the attempt on her life, Lady Glass said that she heard several of the assassin's shout, death to the concubine. "

Elissa winced.

"Given the rumors circulating about her and the King, it is a safe bet they were talking about her."

"Reasonable," Fergus said with a nod, "but I have also been informed that you were late making your rendezvous, that had you not been delayed, you might have saved the lives of both the knights and Bann Shianni's bodyguards."

Again Lis winced.

She could see where this was going.

"We were delayed brother," she admitted, "We had received word of a fire at one of Lord Eddelbrek's farms. It was on the way, so we stopped to investigate."

She lowered her head.

"When we arrived we found the farm undamaged, the story we heard was a ruse, likely to keep us out of the way long enough for the assassins to do their work."

Elissa's arm curled around her helmet.

"We managed to arrive just in time."

Fergus snorted at that.

"I would hardly say you arrived in time sister," he said, "Bann Shianni badly wounded, Lady Margaret Glass with a broken leg and at least three broken ribs."

The Teyrn sighed with disappointment.

"The King trusted us with the safety of these women **. He. Trusted. US.** Your bungling nearly cost all three women their lives. What would I have said to the king had you arrived only a few minutes later. Do you have any idea what this could have cost us? These people are favorites of the King!"

He drew in close to her, glaring up into her eyes.

"If they had died, what do you believe I could say to make the King see us as blameless?"

His frown deepened.

"What would **you** have said?"

Lis swallowed hard.

She knew there was nothing she could say to appease him.

So, she accepted the blame.

"I'm sorry brother," she said flatly.

He shook his head, and snarled beneath his breath.

"That you are sister," he replied, "that **you** are."

The statement struck her like a whip, but she did not respond, either with anger or denial.

She simply stood there, and took it.

It was all she could do.

Fergus returned to his throne and slumped down. He looked so weary, part of her wanted to go and comfort him, but she knew any such move would be unwise.

 _He did not want her help…_

… _not anymore._

"Get out of my sight," he growled, "I will need to write to the families of the knights slain today."

He shook his head.

"I will call if I require anything."

She snapped to attention and saluted.

"Yes Ser," she said with a salute, and with a reasonably good military turn, she left his presence.

Fergus said nothing more. No doubt still feeling what had happened out on the road was her fault, yet another personal failure.

She tried not to let him see her discomfort.

She denied the angry tears that wanted to fall.

Lis could do that, she had done it all her life.

She pursed her lips.

She…was used to it.

IOI

She stepped out into the hall. She was surprised to find Lady Bridget Glass waiting for her there.

The scholar looked…concerned, no doubt she had heard everything that had passed between Lis and her brother.

The tall woman did not let any of the pain show. She forced it down, hiding behind a mask of indifference.

Lis pursed her lips.

When she was younger, she likely would have been extremely jealous of Lady Glass. The girl was everything a high nobleman's daughter should have been. The shy type of yielding maiden that made young noblemen want to go out and slay dragons for her.

Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had hoped to have a daughter like that. A beautiful, poised, noble born girl, who could impress their allies and then marry well to further the line of their family…,

What they had gotten instead…was Lis…

And no one had ever let her forget that.

By the time she was ten she had been larger than Fergus. She had tried more feminine pursuits, but the Ladies in the Couslands' social circles never wanted to accept her. Their daughters called her Giantess, Ox-woman, and many other unflattering titles.

Her Father, seeing she was unhappy, allowed her to train in the warrior arts, it had pleased her for a time. Her size and strength, which had always been a curse, were seen as a boon to her fellow soldiers.

Still, she knew that her mother was disappointed.

Lis was not the lady she wanted her to be, and…

…she never would be

Still she held no grudge against the scholar. The girl had likely saved her life. Lis had seen the steel that was hidden under all that pretty wrapping. That, and not once had the lady said anything cold or cruel, not once since she had been here.

Lis' respect increased five-fold.

She had heard the rumors of course that the girl had only advanced because she was now sharing the king's bed. She did not give credence to such talk, and even if it were true.

Who the girl chose to share herself with, was her business.

It was certainly nothing of hers.

She was determined to be civil to their guest, and would happily thrash anyone who did otherwise.

That threat alone was enough to give most people pause.

The girl smiled as she saw her, Lis tried to put on a brave face, or at least an unpained one.

The girl did not need to hear her problems.

"Lady Elissa," the scholar said with a slight curtsey.

"Lady Bridget," the tall woman responded, bowing slightly.

"I was hoping you might show me to my quarters," Lady Glass said.

"Of course," Lis replied, "If you just follow me."

She led the dark haired girl away from the throne room, away from Fergus.

Fortunately, the girl said nothing for the most of their journey. Lis was grateful for that; she had no desire to have anyone's pity. She thought she was safe, that the scholar would just let it go.

 _She should have guessed that she was wrong._

IOI

Bea waited until they were out of earshot of the Teyrn, until they were in a place where not so many guards stood watch. Lady Cousland walked stiffly at her side. The tall woman's face was a mask, but even still Bea thought she could see the pain underneath.

She could imagine what was going on inside the warrior woman's head right now.

"Does he often talk to you like that?" she inquired.

Lis winced, and first Bea thought she was not going to respond, when she did it was with a wan smile.

"Only when he is awake," she replied.

Bea frowned.

One normally might see sarcastic humor in that response, but here…here she only saw pain.

"It was uncalled for," she murmured, "You saved our lives."

Lis snorted.

"The Teyrn respects my skills," she said, "But that does not mean that I have a free pass with him. In fact, he is harder on me than most because we are blood."

Bea pursed her lips.

"It is because you are blood that he should be more forgiving," she said softly.

The Scholar shook her head.

"What does the Teyrn want from you?"

Elissa wiped at her eyes, Bea might have been wrong but it looked like the woman was almost crying.

"He wants me to turn back time," she responded, "He wants me to bring the dead back to life."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I had been left in charge of Highever Castle the night that Howe took it from us. I was responsible for keeping us safe, and I **failed** utterly in that endeavor."

The warrior looked up at the walls, even today you could see burn marks on the walls, scars left from the battle during that dark night almost two years ago now.

"Our parents, our friends, Fergus' wife and son, they all depended on me to keep them safe, and…and now they are gone…gone!"

The warrior woman sniffled.

"The Teyrn is right to hate me."

Bea felt sympathy for the poor woman. If she had fought like she had on the road she had nothing to be sorry for.

If only the Teyrn could see that.

"May I speak plainly?" she asked Bea.

The scholar nodded.

She sighed heavily once again.

"I miss my brother," Lis admitted, "Fergus may be the Teyrn of Highever, but he is not the man I grew up with. I…I miss that Fergus, but…but I fear with everything that happened…"

She looked down the corridor, the one leading to the kitchens to the larder.

The warrior woman shuddered, though Bea could not imagine why.

"I fear my brother is lost to me."

Bea pursed her lips. She could understand why Lady Cousland had been so hesitant to say anything. It was not considered proper, a noble speaking ill of her family. Even if such words were justified. Maker knew; she had held her tongue more times than she could count when she heard about her own father's dealings.

Alas, there was little she could do; speaking with the Teyrn would likely only make matters worse.

Lis wiped at her face again.

"Your quarters are this way Milady," she said flatly.

"Please follow me."

Bea winced.

"Thank you, Lady Cousland," She said.

The tall woman paused.

"Your Thanks are unnecessary, but appreciated, and it is just Lis if you please."

She gave the scholar a sad smile.

"I'm no lady."

The warrior woman, Lis, started off down the hall again, leaving the scholar with her thoughts, and a very troubled mind.

She thought about what she had seen and heard. Fergus Cousland was not only an ally, but a strong supporter of her work. She could not afford to anger him, but at the same time, she wanted to help the man's sister, the brave woman who had fought so hard on their behalf.

Didn't Lady Cousland, Lis, deserve that?

Didn't she deserve a little peace?

Bea thought she did.

This is none of your business, her conscience reminded her.

Stay out of this; it is a family matter, a personal matter.

She recognized that too, but found that she did not care.

Everything she had seen had suggested that Elissa Cousland was a good woman, if she abandoned her to darkness, she was no better than the men who had sacked this place during the Blight, perhaps worse.

She could not live with that, not at all.

Lis Cousland had saved her life.

She would do what she could to save hers, and if she ended up angering the Teyrn so be it.

She would pay the price.

It…would be worth it.


	28. Confession

**Chapter 28: Confession**

"This way Messere."

Sister Amalia led the Orlesian Ambassador through the great hall of the Denerim chantry, past the pews, passed the great statues of their Prophet, and a sea of candles.

The Orlesian said nothing, not that there was much to say. He came here every week, wishing to unburden his soul, for confession.

The Chantry was always willing to listen, with a kind ear and an open heart.

The two approached the confessional, none were occupied right now, but the sister directed the Ambassador to the farthest one on the right.

The sister smiled.

It was rare that the Revered Mother heard confessions these days, but it always seemed that she had time for the Ambassador. In fact she had asked her sisters to inform her immediately should the man come calling…

 _He trusted her,_ she had informed her fellow clerics, _and felt more comfortable unburdening himself to her rather than anyone else._

And so, once again she was here, waiting for the poor man to unburden his soul.

Sister Amalia kept a respectful distance as the Ambassador slipped inside; waiting patiently should the man require anything else.

He did not.

The Ambassador closed the door, and bowed his head.

He heard the screen open, already knowing who was inside.

He smiled slightly.

"Bless me Mother, for I have sinned."

"Speak freely, my son," Mother Allison replied, "You are among the faithful now."

The man almost snorted. The woman hid her anger and disappointment well, but not well enough that he did not hear it in her voice.

In his line of work, it was always smart to be able to gauge what a person's mood, especially when dealing with the nobility.

Not that he was surprised, by now everyone in Denerim had heard what had happened in the King's Road.

Neither the Glass sisters nor the Bann of Alienage had fallen. He did not expect the cleric to care about the elf or the elder Glass, but…

She most certainly cared about the younger one.

No doubt, when the girl had left, she had expected to hear that she would not be coming back, now…now…

The Ambassador tried not to frown.

Now he needed to _appease_ her, lest the groundwork he laid so carefully these last few months fall away.

There were those in Orlais who had plans for Mother Allison.

It would not do to have her slip out of their hands now.

IOI

The cleric waited patiently, in would not do to simply demand an explanation.

Making demands was not a part of her station, at least…not yet.

She took a cleansing breath, letting her anger go.

The Maker demanded much of his servants.

Patience was only their first duty.

"I take it, my son," she began, "That you have heard what happened."

"I assume you mean the matter we discussed months ago," the man responded, "If so, then oui."

Allison's eyes narrowed.

"The matter did not come to the…the… _satisfying_ conclusion that I expected."

On the other side of the confessional, the ambassador chuckled.

"The matter could have gone better, oui, but it was not all a failure. Certain matters have come to light. The whole affair might not have been a complete success, but nor was it a complete failure either."

The Mother chose not to ask what matters the Ambassador was referring to. Politics was his arena; the souls of the faithful were hers.

She intended to see those souls protected.

Eliminating the harlot was the first step.

"When can I expect another… _attempt_ to deal with the matter?"

The Ambassador sighed.

"Not for a while I'm afraid; the King is most displeased by what occurred. Moving again so soon, would risk destroying all that my…sources have achieved in the last few months."

The Revered Mother pursed her lips.

She understood what was being said, but she still did not like it.

All they were doing was giving the concubine more time to sink her teeth and claws deeper into the King. Now it was said that she had the ear of the Teyrn of Highever…

The Mother shook her head.

She could only imagine what depraved favors the girl offered to gain his support.

The Mother's temper flared.

She did not know the Glass family personally, but she knew what they were, there were plenty of parasites drifting through the royal courts of Thedas.

Already the girl's father had gotten his claws on the Arling of Denerim, in a few months, his son would be in a position to inherit West Hill, or so her sources had informed her.

Allison's frown deepened.

Had the Glass girl been…removed, it would have neutralized her father; all the fools cozying up to him would abandon him if his daughter was not there to hold the king's attention.

Once she was gone, a more proper consort could be found for His Majesty, one who understood the way the world worked, one who was a friend to the faithful…

She sighed.

She had been among those not pleased that Maric's bastard was the only one left to take the throne, but with Chancellor Eamon advising him, she had hoped that the boy would rise to the occasion, that he would forget his dalliances and do what was best for the kingdom.

So far, he had not, and she feared, that it would only get worse.

 _The only question now was what had happened…?_

… _And how were they going to move forward?_

"I don't suppose you know what happened?" she asked, "How this all went so very wrong?"

The ambassador sighed.

"Apparently, the girl is stronger than we thought. According to my sources, she killed at least three of the men sent to…handle her."

The mother's brow furrowed.

"The girl was unarmed, was she not?"

"So I've heard. Never the less, she killed at least some of the men. Perhaps there is more to her than we thought."

Allison nodded.

It was possible she supposed, just because someone showed no marshal prowess in public, did not mean that they did not possess it.

She sighed.

The next attempt would have to be something more…subtle.

It was the ambassador that interrupted her musing, his tone becoming more…comforting.

"Have no fear Revered Mother, matters will be set right. It would have been better if certain obstacles had been…removed, but the plan remains on track."

The priest's eyes narrowed.

"And what plan is that?"

"I've already told you," the Ambassador sighed, "Changes are coming, some quicker than most might think. His Majesty's policies have angered certain parties; all that has happened in the last few months is part of a much larger plan."

He paused. She suspected that he might have been smiling.

"When it all comes to fruition, everything will be set right, and the victors will be grateful to all who aided them, and reward them accordingly."

Allison sniffed at that.

"The only reward I want is to ensure the safety of my flock's souls."

"That safety will be assured," he promised, "and perhaps something more."

The man leaned closer.

"I know that you desire the Grand Cleric's seat, but are no doubt considered too young to take the post."

Allison did not answer.

Yet, the Ambassador continued.

"There are changes coming in the Chantry, Revered Mother. Divine Beatrix's health continues to fail, when she is called to the Maker's side, there will be many changes to the status quo. There are both priests and Templars who have come to realize the need for change."

The Mother pursed her lips; her heart beat a little faster.

This was not the type of conversation that normally took place here, but…

She smiled slightly.

There was truth in the Orlesians words.

"The new Divine will have choices to make, difficult choices. The priests and Templars will support them, whatever they are, but it falls to the faithful to make sure the Divine understands what it means to share power with those who have earned it."

The Mother tilted her head slightly.

"And if one aided in helping the faithful understand?"

Again the Ambassador chuckled.

"Such a one would be well rewarded, and would be able to say without doubt that they did what was best, both for the nations of Thedas, and the chantry."

The man leaned up tight against the screen.

"I do hope you understand, Your Reverence, this is about more than one of the King's whores. This is about improving the lives of every man woman and child in Thedas."

He smiled at her.

"I hope you can understand why this is so important. Not just for the Empire that I serve, but for both the Chantry and your beloved Ferelden as well."

He leaned back, giving her time to digest what he had told her.

"I trust you will make the right decision, Revered Mother."

Allison considered what he had said.

The Ambassador was not wrong, there had been many problems affecting the chantry, the spread of the Qunari heresy, the growing power of the Fraternity of Enchanters and the College of Magi, not to mention the chantry's refusal to deal with the Ferelden Circle after its betrayal during the Blight.

The chantry had been lenient on such issues for far too long.

Perhaps a firmer hand was needed.

Perhaps it was time to take steps to ensure that.

She would not forget the whore, but for now the girl was only a symptom of the larger problem, once that sickness had been cured, then the symptom would simply fall away.

Her smile widened.

"The Maker forgives your sins," she said, pressing her hand over her heart, "May the many blessings of the Maker and his bride be upon you."

The Ambassador lowered his head.

"Thank you Revered Mother."

"It is always good to count oneself among the Faithful," she replied.

The Orlesian chuckled.

"It does indeed."

IOI

Confession was supposed to be a private matter, a time when a person could speak freely and without judgment.

Sister Amalia believed that, but that did not stop her from listening in on the Ambassador's…session with the Revered Mother.

The young sister smiled.

She was not sure what had just occurred in there, but it was certainly not like any confession she had ever heard.

What had been said, what she had heard, these were dangerous things to be sure, dangerous and deadly…

…but also…highly profitable.

Amalia had never wanted to come to the chantry. When she had been a girl, growing up in the Duchess' service, she had dreamed once of finding a good wealthy husband, and starting a life somewhere far from the demands of the faith.

That had not happened. She had always been a plain girl, and plain looking girls did not land wealthy husbands, not without some wealth of their own, of course…

The Duchess had tried to prepare her for the life she was best suited for, but still her big dreams refused to fade away. She knew what she wanted, and what it would take to get it.

…Which of course, led her back to the matter she had heard today, and made her realize that she was going to think of a way to turn it to her advantage?

She had at last found a way to make all her dreams come true.

All she had to do now was be brave enough to seize it.

She slipped away before either the Ambassador or Mother Allison realized that she had been listening.

In the past she had passed anything useful she had heard to the Duchess, and from there her former patron had been able to broker a deal for whatever profit was owed. Amalia had always gotten a piece of that, but it had always been too small.

Once she had had no choice but to go through the Duchess and her contacts, but now…by a quirk of fate. She realized that she no longer needed to.

She had a friend in the capital now, a powerful friend…

Amalia smiled.

…An extremely wealthy friend.

The sister still could not believe it. She had been a few years older, but still remembered the Duchess' favorite, the one most likely to succeed. In fact, she had once shared a room with the girl, and now she was the new Bann of Amaranthine!

Surely her old friend Lorelei would want to hear about the Mother and the Ambassador.

Surely she would be willing to pay for that knowledge, and pay well.

Amalia almost giggled.

It was said that the Maker moved in mysterious ways, that he never answered a person's prayers in the way they might expect.

Amalia had never understood what that meant, but now she understood completely.

The Maker had answered her prayers, he had opened the door.

Now all she had to do was step through it.

And she would be finally free to follow her dreams.

She did not know what the Bann would do with this knowledge, and she didn't care.

She was getting out of here.

She…was going to be free!


	29. The Return

**Chapter 29: The Return**

The King had only just returned from his morning ride when he heard the news.

Alistair had just handed the reins of the beautiful white mare to an elven stable boy, when a runner from Chancellor Eamon found him; the boy was out of breath, after hurrying so quickly to find him.

The boy bowed, trying hard to regain his breath.

Take your time lad, the king said, "No point in passing out before I get my message."

The boy nodded, he had come from Eamon himself.

The Chancellor had thought that his king might be eager to hear the news…

…and he had not been wrong.

Alistair was **more** than interested.

He smiled as the boy finished.

It had been something he had been waiting to hear for the last three weeks.

He rushed down to the palace gates, not even waiting for his herald or bodyguards, it was something that the Chancellor had warned him about over and over again, these men were here for his protection after all, but he found that he did not care...

He had no time for such…trivialities now.

The king's smile widened.

Bridget Glass had returned from Highever.

He had been…understandably concerned about her return, ever since he had first learned of the failed assassination attempt.

The King frowned.

He wouldn't say he had been…worried, not exactly, but he had been justifiably concerned. When he had first learned of the attack he had almost assembled a company of men and marched on Highever, to make sure that Bea and her party was safe, and to hunt down whom exactly had been behind such a craven attack.

Alistair pursed his lips.

He was used to people trying to kill him. He had had enough of that during the Blight, but to attack an innocent scholar, and her sister, not to mention Shianni a close and personal friend of the throne.

That, he thought, the whole thing…that did not sit right with him at all.

The Chancellor had preached caution of course. Teyrn Cousland was already looking into the matter, if Alistair acted rashly and moved men onto his land without permission…

Such an act could be bad; the Couslands were among his most ardent supporters.

Angering them was not a good idea.

Surprisingly, Wilbur Rich agreed with the Chancellor. The King's secretary understood the value of keeping Highever in the fold.

 _I understand your desire to act, Your Majesty_ , the man said with that sly smile of his.

 _So act, but wisely, carefully…even the smallest Mabari knows when it is best to bite._

 _Your time will come._

Realizing how rare it was that the two men agreed on anything, Alistair had heeded their advice.

Now was not a time to be rash.

He would wait, and in the meantime, let wiser men find out exactly what had happened on the king's road.

Wilbur Rich's people were looking into the matter. All the evidence that they had discovered so far suggested that it was **not** the Glass girls who were the target but Bann Shianni. All evidence pointed to a Ser Ryland, a knight, well known for his … _negative_ opinion of the elves. The man had been censored by good King Cailan, and had only just returned to court, having fought against the darkspawn during the Blight it seemed made many friends…

…But those friends could not save him now.

He had attacked a high noble, and her escorts.

He would answer for that.

When the guard had been sent to arrest Ser Ryland, they had found the man dead in his home, the suicide note found not far away from the body. It contained a full confession for the crime. Ryland, realizing that his men had failed had not wished to be beheaded in Fort Drakon.

Poison, he had likely thought, offered a gentler way out.

Mister Rich was still looking into the matter. He had not been…satisfied by the whole matter. Too convenient the man had said.

He had promised the king to look into the matter further, just in case.

Alistair had agreed. If Ryland had been behind the attack, so be it, but if he had not been…

Then they likely had a bigger problem on their hands.

That was a matter for another day however, for the moment he was more concerned about the poor ladies nearly killed in that cowardly attack. The Chancellor's contacts in Highever castle sent almost daily reports.

The king felt that he needed to know.

Shianni had suffered a mild concussion, not to mention a broken arm. Margaret Glass had broken her leg, and cracked several ribs.

Bea had emerged…almost unscathed, a fact that her attackers had paid for dearly, if you could believe the talk coming out of Highever.

The story had spread quickly through the ranks of Highever's soldiers; it was not surprising that it had quickly found its way into the barracks of Denerim. Alistair, always being comfortable around soldiers had likely heard it before the royal court had.

To say the least he was impressed.

According to the rumors, Bea had been forced to defend herself with nothing but a broken shield. The scholar had proven both her mettle and her quality by slaying no less than five of her attackers with that simple weapon.

An impressive display to be sure.

Alistair, having been a soldier most of his life, knew how quickly these stories got embellished. Every time he heard it, the girl's deeds grew more grandiose.

He chuckled.

The most recent version made no mention of the Highever soldiers that had saved her. It claimed that she had fought off the assassins on her own, with nothing but her wits and her damaged weapon.

Unlikely, he knew, but that did not take away from the value of the tale. If anything, Lady Glass's reputation had grown among the nobles and warrior classes.

None would dare speak ill of Lady Brokenshield, as they were now calling her.

The King shook his head.

Poor Bea, he thought, the girl would never live this down, but perhaps… that was for the best.

Respect was a great shield, no pun intended, against malicious rumors. Even the chantry had fallen silent.

He hoped that this incident would be the end of the problem between Lady Glass and the Chantry. Ferelden had enough to worry about; they did not need to be fighting each other over academic matters.

On a personal note, he was just glad to hear that everyone was safe. Shianni, he owed it to Kallian to keep her cousin safe. Margaret Glass, was Arl Glass' elder daughter, he was no doubt grateful that she was fine; hopefully her survival would put to rest any of the talk about the Arling of Denerim being cursed. Bridget…Bea was…

He paused, a bit of warmth flooding his cheeks.

The King smiled.

He was just grateful that the girl was all right.

He had come to miss having her at court, not to mention their little meetings in the hall before he began his day.

Anora Mac Tir's fall from grace had left the court lacking in…a feminine perspective. Bea had restored that, her soft touch and academic arguments reminded everyone that there was life after a Blight.

The fact that she was a beauty on top of all that did not hurt either.

Maker knew, he thought the court was more…decorative with her there.

The King cleared his throat.

He would be keeping that to himself of course.

He had no desire to insult or embarrass the pretty scholar.

He would do nothing to risk her leaving.

They were all better off with her there.

He was better off.

IOI

"Greeting, Your Majesty."

Alistair smiled.

"Good after noon Your Grace, here to welcome your daughters back as well?"

Arl Nathaniel smiled.

"For Margaret, more than anything else," he confessed, "the healers in Highever repaired her wounds, but apparently there is still a great deal of pain."

The man shrugged.

"Em was my first baby girl; she has always required far more attention than her sister."

Alistair merely shrugged. Being raised an only child; he had never had experience of having brothers and sisters.

He pursed his lips.

What would it have been like, he wondered? How would he have turned out had he been raised by his mother, raised with his sister Goldanna?

He sighed.

I guess I will never know, he thought.

IOI

The Arl glanced around; he frowned at the sight of the king walking alone.

"Where are your retainers Your Majesty?" he inquired.

Alistair shrugged.

"They will be along shortly, I'm sure."

The Arl of Denerim said nothing.

On one hand he was pleased that the king had come himself, it meant that Bea was making progress, whether she realized it or not, on the other hand he was a bit concerned.

The King took chances sometimes, risky chances.

It would not do if he should perish before producing an heir. Ferelden had barely survived good King Cailan's passing.

The death of his brother…would be a great tragedy indeed.

He would need to speak with the Chancellor later about the matter, make sure that king understood.

The king's safety was their highest concern, at least for now.

Once he had produced an heir that might change, but for now the king needed to be protected.

Ferelden depended on it. House Glass depended on it.

The Arl would do what he must.

Their fortune needed to be protected…

…No matter the cost.

IOI

The King and the Arl made their way into the courtyard. The carriage from Highever was flanked by no less than twenty armed soldiers. The Teyrn had taken no chances in seeing to his guest's safety, not after they had come so close to meeting their end on the king's road.

Alistair spotted Shianni first, the red haired elf stood with her arm in a sling, having a few choice words with one of the soldiers who had tried to help her out of the carriage. Margaret Glass stood off to the side swaying and giggling slightly.

The girl was using a cane, not surprising after breaking her leg. The mage tending to medical needs in Highever could heal the bone, but the soreness would linger for quite a while.

Alistair knew that from experience.

Wynne had been a skilled healer, but no injury could be completely erased with magic.

Time was still important.

Time was still necessary.

At last one of the knights helped Bea out of the carriage, Alistair, intent on greeting her first, pushed his way forward.

He wanted her to understand how much her presence had been missed.

He wanted her to understand…

He swallowed hard.

He wanted her to understand how much he had missed her.

The dark haired scholar turned.

He was about to greet her when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Wait! What?

The King blinked.

The girl in the scholar's robes turned and bowed.

"Messere," she cooed.

Again he blinked.

The girl facing him…it…it

He shook his head.

The girl was **not** Bea!

She looked like her, from a distance, but…

It wasn't her.

It. Wasn't. Her.

He was about to demand an explanation when he felt an armored hand fall across his shoulder.

He turned; ready to push whoever had grabbed him back.

He hesitated, and a good thing to.

"Is there something you want, Messere?"

The king blinked again.

He…he…

Oh Maker.

He was standing eye to eye, or rather eye to chin with the tallest woman he had ever seen!

The experience…left him a bit speechless.

Even Arl Glass remained silent.

Alistair looked into the eyes of the giantess. She was armed and armored, and giving him a look that was far from kind.

The sight was enough to even give him pause.

Maker, he thought, this woman would make his old friend Sten look normal sized, provided she stood next to him of course.

She…she…

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"Yes?" she said.

"Wow," the king replied, still seeking to find his words.

"I…I…"

The woman frowned.

"Yes?" she repeated.

Alistair blinked.

"Um…Ah…"

Say something stupid!

"Wow," he said again, "You…you are big!"

The giantess's eyes narrowed.

So I have been told," she said.

She crossed her hands across her chest.

"And you are?" she inquired.

Alistair blinked.

Wait…she…she didn't?

He laughed nervously.

"Hi there," he replied, "I'm Alistair…I'm…I'm the king…"

The woman arched an eyebrow.

Alistair shrugged.

"Sort of," he added.

The Giantess took a step back and dropped to one knee.

"Forgive me Your Majesty," she said bowing her head, "I did not recognize you…so…so…"

The woman fidgeted.

"So commonly dressed."

Alistair looked down.

His shirt, trousers, boots, tunic, and riding cloak didn't look very regal. Even he had to admit that. He just never felt comfortable wearing noble finery while out riding through the fields.

It was bad enough that he had to wear the fancy robes at court. If he had to wear them at court as well…

…He would have felt **really** stupid.

Immediately feeling like an idiot, he gave the woman a sympathetic look.

"Arise," he said, "It wasn't your fault you didn't recognize me."

Behind them, one of the Highever guards laughed.

Alistair, the Arl, and the giantess both turned.

"It could be worse, Your Majesty," she said with an amused giggle.

"At least you're not covered in mud this time."

The guard dismounted, and unstrapped her helmet.

She glanced at the tall woman.

"You were right Lis," she said, "Even the king did not realize that we used a decoy."

Arl Glass caught on first.

He blinked.

"Sweetheart?" he asked.

The guard removed her helmet, letting her dark hair tumble down her back.

"Hello, Papa," Bridget Glass said jovially.

She turned to Alistair and curtseyed, not an easy thing in armor.

"Your Majesty," she purred.

Alistair nodded dumbly.

Normally, armor did little for a person's looks, Bea on the other hand.

The girl was smiling.

He smiled back…

…Smiled at the most adorable looking guard in Thedas.

She looked away, her cheeks turning a little pink.

His heart beat a little faster.

He…he…

He blinked.

Uh oh, he thought.

The last time he had felt so…so…happy had been…been…

He shook his head.

It had been when he first acknowledged his feelings for Kallian, that…that had been a very special day and now…now…

Oh Maker!

He pursed his lips, tried not to think about it.

He tried not to look like some love sick puppy whose mistress had returned from a long journey. Wynne had often accused him of reminding her of a puppy, so eager, so willing to accept affection.

He shook his head.

Evil, evil old woman, one of his best friends, but still…

Evil old woman.

"Your Majesty," Bea continued, "Allow me to introduce Lady Elissa Cousland, she will be staying with House Glass for the foreseeable future."

"Lady Cousland," Alistair said, trying to ignore the pounding in his heart.

"Welcome to Denerim."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lady Cousland said, "And please, call me Lis."

Alistair nodded.

He would call her whatever she wanted, as long as Bea stayed close to him.

The warrior woman bowed to Arl Nathaniel.

""Lady Bea said my presence would not be minded, Your Grace," she said, "I hope that you do not mind."

Arl Nathaniel shrugged.

"Any friend of my daughter's is a friend of mine, please Lady Cousland follow me. You must be tired from your long journey."

The Arl led Lis back to the palace. Retainers and footmen helped Margaret and Shianni. Alistair was about to speak with the elf but she shook her head no, and pointed back towards Bea.

Apparently, she felt that the beautiful young scholar needed his personal attention.

He swallowed hard.

He needed to be careful, not to think of matters that were…too personal, at least for now.

He respected Bea too much.

He had no desire to embarrass her.

She noticed the look on his face, and her blush deepened.

He looked away, feeling like a fool.

She laughed nervously.

"We…um…well…we should go inside to, don't you think?"

"Yes…um…ah that is…ah…good idea."

The two of them fell in step beside each other, neither willing to look at the other directly.

Alistair shook his head.

How had things become so bloody awkward in such a short time?

It made no sense.

He…he…

He glanced down at her.

That long raven hair, those deep blue eyes, and those soft merry lips.

He shook his head.

Andraste save me, he thought.

I'm in trouble.

"Um…Are you well, Your Majesty?" she asked.

Alistair nodded.

At least he could do that without looking like a total fool.

He smiled at her, trying not to think inappropriate thoughts.

"Um… Lady Glass," he murmured.

She looked up nervously.

"Yes…Your…Your Majesty," she said softly.

He smiled at her. Immediately that tiny smile of hers sprang into view, the one that lit up the whole world.

It warmed the corridor.

It warmed him.

The King bowed his head respectfully.

He said only two words…

"Welcome home."


	30. Lady Cousland

**Chapter 30: Lady Cousland**

" _I think you need a change of scenery."_

It was with those words that Bea first began to tempt Lis Cousland to leave Highever. During her time in Highever the warrior woman had become her second shadow. Where ever the scholar went Lis had not been far behind, always armed and armored. Some might have called such duties beneath a member of Highever's ruling family, but Lis would not allow anyone else to take up the charge.

The scholar had been attacked under her watch.

She took such an insult personally.

For her part Bea had come to accept her rather intimidating companion, and with both Margaret and Shianni still recovering from their wounds…it was not like she had a choice of companions. As the days passed, she had come to see the warrior as someone she could confide in, as a friend.

A useful situation, considering she needed the Couslands' help.

Bea shook her head at the very thought.

 _Merciful Maker,_ she thought.

 _I'm starting to think like my father._

IOI

The two had been playing cards and drinking wine one night after dinner, going over what Bea had accomplished earlier. Fergus had been…impressed by what Lady Glass had come up with, the idea of using plants to restore growth to the Blighted south of Ferelden. It was an _original_ idea, at least as far as the Teyrn was concerned.

Bea hoped that it would be a _successful_ idea as well.

Lis had looked up from her cards. The scholar's face was scrunched with concentration as she considered her next move.

The warrior woman chuckled.

"Most card players try to appear relaxed, Milady," she said.

Bea smiled.

"Merely, trying to compute the odds, Lady Cousland," she replied.

Lis' brow furrowed.

"Can you predict the outcome of cards?"

"One of my friends at the University certainly thought so," Bea responded with a shrug, "He was a mathematician. Probability is a factor, he told me once, but so is being able to read people."

She smirked.

"Guess I'm trying too hard."

IOI

Lis shrugged. Cards were one of the few pursuits her mother had taught her that she had taken to. Wicked Grace and Diamondback were often main sources of entertainment at noble salons. At least for someone in Lis' position.

The warrior woman shook her head.

Maker knew; she did not have the talent for other feminine pursuits.

Bea pursed her lips.

It was then that she had first offered to take Lis with her when their little group returned to Denerim.

Lis…she…she had not been sure about that.

"Highever is my home, Milady," she reminded Bea.

The scholar sighed.

"First off, call me Bea."

"Very well, Highever is my home, Bea."

"And second, it always will be," the scholar said sympathetically, "But, Lady Cousland, Lis, think about this for a moment, are you truly happy here? Are you happy living under your brother's roof?"

Her brow had furrowed at that.

"Fergus was always destined to be Teyrn," she said drawing another card.

"I never doubted that."

"But that does not mean that you deserve to be treated so."

The warrior shook her head.

"Fergus has a right to be angry, to mourn."

"Agreed, but you also have a right to be happy."

Bea looked at her hand and frowned.

She drew two more cards.

"Can you honestly say you're happy here, Lis?"

The warrior shook her head.

"He just needs time," she sighed.

"Once again, I agree," the scholar said, "He could use some time on his own, time to work through his feelings about what happened here."

Bea shook her head.

"I can't imagine what it must feel like," she shuddered, "What you both suffered, losing so much in a single night."

Lis almost growled.

"I **can't** just leave," she said, "I'm Captain here now, who would take over if I left?"

"Your man Hammond seemed like a good sort," Bea answered, "The rest of the men respect him, and so do you if I'm not mistaken."

Lis snorted at that.

"Hammond is a good man, but a little impatient for the job, Lieutenant Branwen always has to rein him in it seems. Probably why he keeps her so close by…"

The warrior paused, thinking.

IOI

Bea almost smiled.

It was progress at least.

She had observed no less than three times were the Teyrn had talked down to his younger sister. Lis, who seemed as strong as a mountain, always seemed to quail under those verbal assaults.

Bea hoped to get her new friend away from all that, if she could.

Lis sighed and idly tapped on the table top.

When she looked up, it was clear that she was not totally against the idea.

"What would I even do in the capital," she asked.

"Whatever you like," Bea shrugged, "Denerim is not Val Royeaux, but it is a place of wonders…"

She smiled again.

"Someone of high noble blood would be more than welcome there."

Lis' eyes narrowed.

"I'm a warrior."

"You can still be a warrior in the capital."

"Yes, but I could also be a pawn."

Lis frowned.

"That is what I'm afraid of," she said, "I spent my whole life trying to avoid being caught up in noble games."

Bea' smiled widened.

"So have I… _mostly_ anyway."

The warrior tilted her head.

"Mostly?"

The scholar sighed.

"My Father…he…he is a….a… _ambitiou_ s man. We only returned to Ferelden to see if my sister could catch the eye of the king."

She smiled wanly.

"That did not work out so well, now it seems that all of Denerim is fixated on me as part of some grand plan to seduce the king."

Bea shook her head.

"It is all quite ridiculous."

IOI

Lis leaned back in her chair, taking in her friend.

Bea gave her a worried look.

"What?"

The warrior shrugged.

"What?" she repeated.

The warrior sighed.

"I've heard the rumors that have been whispered about you, Bea. People call you the king's concubine, not to mention a few names that are even less…flattering."

The scholar lowered her head.

"I have heard them too."

"Then I also take it you heard what those men trying to kill you on the road were shouting?"

Bea nodded.

Yes, she had heard.

 _Death to the Concubine!_

Again she nodded.

Lis sighed.

"You **have** made enemies, Mi…I mean Bea. Given the degree of professionalism we saw in the most recent attack, I would say you have made _powerful_ enemies."

The warrior's eyes narrowed.

"Such people are not just going to stop because their first attempt failed. They will be back."

Bea shuddered at that.

She…she had hoped that it would have been over.

Given her luck recently, she should have known that she was wrong.

"Powerful people want you dead," the warrior said flatly.

"I'm just a scholar," she replied, "I'm willing to share everything I know."

"Some people find that kind of thinking dangerous," Lis said, "They don't trust people who are too…generous."

Bea's eyes narrowed.

"I'm only trying to help."

"Which is why you need to be protected," Lis shrugged, "You have powerful enemies Bridget Glass, you need powerful allies to protect you."

She smiled slightly.

"I'm willing to help you with that."

Bea arched her eyebrows.

"You…you want to help me, with this."

"You said I needed to get out of Highever, I can think of no less noble a reason."

The warrior chuckled.

"Protecting the king's favored scholar, not to mention the daughter of the new Arl of Denerim, I could not find a better reason to make this journey. Plus, it is a good a reason as any to tell Fergus."

Lis' smile widened

"If he does want me gone, this is as good an excuse as any, plus I further the ends of our family."

The warrior chuckled again.

"Everyone wins."

Bea still did look so sure.

"It will be dangerous," she reminded her friend.

"I know."

"You risk angering the people after me. They would become your enemies, too."

Lis' eyes narrowed.

"I survived almost a year of captivity and torture, Bea; I think I can survive this."

Bea winced.

"I don't want you getting caught up in my father's games."

Lis rolled her eyes.

"First you say I should leave; now you are saying you don't want me too…"

"Staying close to me guarantees that you will be linked with my family."

The warrior sniffed.

"Let us call it a political alliance then, I'm merely travelling with you to protect Highever's investment in your work."

Lis poured herself a glass of wine, and made sure that Bea's was full as well.

She raised hers

"To the future," the warrior purred, holding her glass up in toast, "And to a change of scenery."

Bea shook her head.

She still did not like this, but at the same time, she knew that Lis was not wrong.

She had made enemies.

Now, she needed to make a few friends.

Having Cousland support could not hurt her cause, and if it discouraged any of her enemies from trying to kill her again, so much the better.

Bea sighed.

She raised her glass.

"To the future."

IOI

Bea, Shianni, and Margaret had all been grateful to have returned home. Their return, and Lis' arrival, was met with much fanfare on the part of the royal court. Arl Nathaniel was more that pleased to boast about the success of his daughter's mission to Highever, and the fact that they now counted Bryce Cousland's youngest child as both a friend and ally.

Lis remained silent. She saluted when it was appropriate, but said little else.

She already managed to catch several snickers from the ladies of the court, those who did not know what to make of a noble of her size…and temperament.

Lis did not let it bother her. She had dealt with such opinions all her life.

She made no excuses for whom and what she was.

She was a warrior, first and for most…

…End of story.

This was also her first chance to actually meet King Alistair. Father had always been a loyal supporter of good King Cailan.

There were many nobles who still feared the Cailan's common born brother was not up to the task of ruling their country. A warrior he might have been, but politics was a far different battlefield.

It had consumed more than a few royals in its time.

Bea did her best to shelter her new friend from the bulk of the questions that the court had about Lis' presence. They stuck to the story they had both agreed upon that night over cards.

Meanwhile, Lis let her eyes wander over the many nobles surrounding them. She evaluated each with a warrior's eye, trying to size them all up…

She frowned slightly.

Somewhere, among this lot, were the people who had tried to assassinate Bea and her friends. They were likely planning a new attack at this very moment.

The warrior's eyes narrowed.

She would not let that happen.

She would find out who had been behind that attack, who had dared besmirch the Cousland family honor…

When she did, she would confront them, have them brought before the king, and if they resisted…

She would end them.

Of course, that was a challenge for another day, for now she had to focus on surviving the Arl's dinner party.

Not an easy challenge to be sure.

Quentin Glass managed to discover that that Lis had been familiar with the Lady Jayne Wulfe, who was even now returning to Denerim to become his bride. The Teyrn's son was obviously quite curious what kind of woman he was marrying, her likes and dislikes, and what she had been like as a girl.

Lis…was not quite sure what to tell him.

Had she known Jayne? Yes. But that had been a long time ago, back then Lady Wulfe had been just another girl who had teased her mercilessly. As she had grown older, the blonde had discovered Andraste and the Maker, and her piety and pride had pushed her away from noble circles, driving her to seek out a new life in the Chantry.

That had been the Jayne that Lis had knew, if she was still like that, she could not say, after all, that had been a long time ago.

People could change after all, or so she had heard.

Perhaps Jayne could too.

Eventually, the court began to ask questions about the attack on the road. Lis tried to downplay her role in the affair, but Bea would not let her.

The Scholar seemed intent on making her a hero of the affair. Lis did not want that.

A hero would have prevented the attack in the first place. She had failed out on the road…

…Just as she had failed to save her parents.

Tales of her skills soon turned to talk about the Blight, many a noble wanted to know if she had seen any action against the darkspawn.

Sadly she had not.

She told them stories about her captivity, her imprisonment at the hands of Arl Howe. She spoke of the tortures she had endured, not wishing for sympathy, but merely to state in fact just what she had survived.

She then raised her goblet to the king.

She thanked him and his friends for dealing with Arl Howe, for freeing Ferelden from the traitor who had so callously butchered her family.

Alistair accepted her acknowledgment with a brief nod, and more than a few of the court nodded as well.

Many of them knew what type of man Rendon Howe was, and no doubt were glad to be rid of him…

…Many…but not all.

IOI

At the end of the table there was one noble who said nothing when the tale of Howe's death was told. Bann Lorelei said nothing, she watched Lis Cousland, her feelings hid behind a bland mask.

Her fury built at what these…people were saying about her father.

How dare they!

Rendon Howe had served the Hero of Riverdane.

How dare they turn on him now?

Lorelei managed to regain her temper. She still needed to keep a low profile. She was set to return to her holdings inside Amaranthine soon…

Once she was there, safe behind her own walls, she would be able to come up with a proper plan to avenge her father.

She glared at the Cousland woman…the…the moose who dared call herself a noble!

Lorelei giggled.

One day, the Cousland's would answer for what they stole. One day she would regain all that her father had lost….

On that day, the Cousland's would answer for their arrogance.

The Couslands would answer for that insult, they would pay.

She smiled wickedly.

They would all pay.


	31. Restless

**Chapter 31: Restless**

Nightmares.

They were something that King Alistair had learned to get used to. In the year and half that he had served in the Grey Wardens waking up almost screaming had become the norm. The end of the Blight had soothed some of those hard nights, but not all.

Some night's sleep would not come, and when it did the dreams would often repeat themselves, repeat, and repeat until he was forced to rise and start his day…

Such a night came after the dinner party for Elissa Cousland ended, and the King found himself walking the floor of his private quarters.

He forced his breathing to slow, drawing on both his Templar and warden training. The dreams tonight were not nightmares per se, but they were…were…

The king swallowed hard.

They were… _problematic._

He shook his head. He could have called for a servant to bring him some refreshment, but instead chose to remain alone, to work through what had woken him, and drove him from his bed.

After all, these were not the type of dreams you discussed with others, even if he had wanted to…

It was not the first time this particular dream had roused him. The elements had changed over the last year, but the essence of the dream remained.

Now…now he had to work through it, and decide what he was going to do. The new elements suggested that he had a problem, a big problem.

He needed to decide how best to deal with it.

He slipped into his robe and sat at his desk. He glanced at the papers that he needed to turn over to Eamon in the morning, as well as the stack that required his attention.

The King frowned at that one.

If he was awake, he should at least try to get some work done, that would be the wise thing to do. Besides, going through reports on city affairs, sanitation, and local ordinances always had a way of putting him to sleep.

Of course, if he **did** fall asleep the dream would likely start again, and maybe this time…it would reach a point where he did not want to be.

Alistair sighed.

No matter what he did, there would be no easy escape.

He rose again and began to pace, his heart having finally slowed down enough that he could think rationally once more.

What was he going to do?

He had so few people he could trust to unburden his feelings to. He could have gone to the chantry and confessed, but he suspected that any confession he gave would likely find its way back to the Grand Cleric or some other high priest.

Alistair pursed his lips.

He had spent enough time in the chantry to know that the powerful's confessions never stayed secret for long. Too many people had a stake in influencing their decisions. Priests needed to walk a fine line, and even they were not above temptation, especially since how strongly the chantry had opposed Bea's work.

He had no desire to give them any more ammunition to use against those he cared about. He…

He…he blinked.

Cared?

There it was again.

By itself the word did not mean much, but place feeling behind it…

Cared.

He let out a pained breath.

It was such a tiny word, but one that had great consequences behind it. These were consequences that, for a King, could reshape his country's entire political landscape. He was no fool after all, despite what Morrigan used to say, growing up in Redcliffe, and then living at the Warden Compound in Denerim had given him a chance to see politics at their finest or worst, depending on a person's opinion.

Perhaps that was the main reason he had never wanted the throne. He knew what it could do to people. He had seen the kind of choices that Eamon had to make as an Arl, and those choices had only affected a single Arling. Alistair's decisions could affect the entire nation…

The **entire** nation!

The King shook his head.

It was almost enough to make him start hyper-ventilating. Yet, somehow, he managed to keep his calm.

Panic, though therapeutic would not help him now.

He needed to think clearly.

He sighed again.

He needed to decide what he was going to do about the dream.

IOI

The dream was a familiar torture for him; he had had it many times since Fort Drakon. In the first few months he had awoke almost sobbing, feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Time had turned that pain into a dull ache, but still the nightmare haunted him, which is likely why it still came.

Yet, despite what it did to him, he welcomed its coming; it was the only way now that he got to see her, to truly remember what they had shared.

As painful as it was, he welcomed that brief return to his past, it was a blissful torture that he endured, and had been enduring for months…

Of course, this time…had been a little different.

In began in the palace of course, it always seemed to begin in the palace. He was alone, yet he could still hear the world around him, the day to day grind that made the palace what it was.

He began walking down the hall way, past the empty rooms and guard alcoves, no one showed themselves, even though he knew he wasn't alone.

In this place, he was never alone.

It began slowly, at first. The sound of booted feet on the floor, the snap of a cloak as someone darted down a darkened hall.

Alistair's pace quickened. He knew whose steps those were, and he was determined to catch up to her.

He was determined to see her again.

He turned the corner, catching what might have been the edge of a cloak as the figure dodged down a corner. He wasn't quite running, yet, but he was most definitely in a hurry.

His heart pounded, his breathing quickened, he was a beast on the hunt, and the prey was quickly running out of places to hide.

The chase pleased him more than anything else he had done since first taking the throne.

It was the only time that he truly felt alive.

He hated to admit it, but he missed being a warrior, in the six months before Ostagar he had loved the life of a grey warden. The danger, the excitement, and the comradery of that life made him feel more alive than any time before or since.

He had welcomed the fight against the darkspawn, the chance to prove his quality to those he respected, fighting for a cause he believed in.

Of course, what he was hunting now was no darkspawn, the farthest thing from in fact.

The King smiled predatorily.

He knew what awaited him at the hunts conclusion, and he was tired of denying himself that pleasure.

He picked up the pace.

His prey was waiting for him.

"Alistair."

He heard her voice, merry and teasing, daring him to find her. He tried to reach out with his warden senses but it was no good.

He could not sense her, not in this place.

Here…she was everywhere.

"Alistair, come to me."

He followed the sound of her voice, and the sound of her boots. His blood quickened as he turned the corner just catching a glimpse of her cloak as she fled.

He heard her laughter, soft, warm, inviting, it only made him wanted to quicken his pace even more.

Finally, he found himself before the doors to the throne room.

Alistair swallowed hard.

Kallian, his love,

She was waiting for him on the other side of those doors.

He put his hands on the hard wood, and found himself taking a deep breath.

So many times he had woken at this point, just before he would see his love again. He would awake and almost howl in frustration, hating the fact that he had been denied the chance to see her face again.

That was the torture of the dream, that denial. He had ended their relationship after all; he had chosen the crown over her. She had done everything to make him king, but that was not why he had ended what they had.

He…he had not been able to tell her at the time, why he had done what he had done, why he had truly done it.

Kallian deserved **more** than him, better. He could never be the man she deserved, the throne would always keep them apart, and he refused to let her live as his elven mistress. She deserved better than that.

She deserved better than him.

His hands shook as he started to part the doors, this time would be different…

This time, he would tell her why.

This time, he would let her know that everything he had done, the pain he had caused her…

It…it was all out of love.

He stepped into the massive throne room. Golden light streamed through the windows, giving the chamber an almost glowing appearance.

A lone figure kneeled on the dais, out of breath from running, trembling with nervous anticipation.

Alistair marched into the chamber, eager to claim his prize, his woman, his love. He…

He froze.

It was here that the dream took a different road than it ever had before. The king's breath quickened, his heart hammered against his chest, threatening to rip itself out of it.

It was not Kallian who kneeled before the throne. It was not Kallian who was out of breath, who trembled like a trapped animal before her lord and master.

"Your Majesty," Bea whispered in a husky voice, her heavy breathing exciting him even more!

Alistair shivered.

"Oh," he croaked, "Um…oh…ah…this…this…"

This was not the Bea he knew. This woman was a creature of golden light.

She wore the golden gown he had first seen her in months ago, the one that had been destroyed outside the stable. She bowed her head submissively.

"Your Majesty," she repeated.

He swallowed hard.

He…he…um…

Oh.

He needed to say something, anything.

"Bea…um…Lady Glass…I…I…"

She gave him that slight smile of hers, her eyes shining with both amusement and…and…

Oh Maker!

Was that desire he saw on that sweet little face?

"Alistair," she purred, shifting slightly, not enough reveal anything, but slowly, sensuously.

He…

Oh Maker.

He could not help it.

It was starting to excite him.

"How like you this?" she cooed.

He swallowed hard, his throat had grown dry, his heart pounded.

He could barely restrain himself.

The hunger.

The wanting.

He lunged, taking sliding his hands up her legs. He…he…

He whimpered, and pulled back.

He…he…

He could not do this.

No," he groaned.

No."

Bea gave him a sad look, a confused look.

"Why?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"This…this isn't you," he murmured, "As much as I wished it was."

She gave him a coy smile.

"Are you so certain?" she asked.

She rose. He tried to take a step towards her but she backed away.

"Bea," he murmured, it…it was a painful sound.

Still she did not flee, she smiled warmly.

"Is this what you want?" she asked.

He blinked and tried to look it away.

 _Why do I do this_? He thought.

 _Why do I torture myself like this?_

He had no answer.

"Alistair," the scholar purred.

He looked at her.

Again she gave him that coy smile.

"Is this," she said motioning to herself…

"Is this what you want?"

He wrestled with that question.

Bea was smart, beautiful, and intelligent. She might hold the key to helping his nation recover, but still…still…

He thought back to all those brief meetings, all those shy glances.

Was this…this what he wanted?

He…he…

"Bea," he growled.

She smiled and began to back away.

He did not let her.

He seized her in his arms, pulled her close, she gasped as he took her…he…he…

He woke up.

Alistair sat up in bed, his heart racing, his body sheened in sweat…

He took a deep breath, trying to reign in his heartbeat, that…and other parts of himself.

He took a deep breath and groaned.

He almost whimpered.

Kallian had not been there tonight, and in her place…he…he…

Is this what you want?

The question haunted him.

He rose and began to pace.

The long night had begun.

IOI

Alistair sighed heavily.

Outside the window the first crimson light of dawn was beginning to shine in the sky.

The king shook his head.

Twice more the dream had come, and twice more he awoke feeling denied, frustrated he…he…

He almost growled.

What was he supposed to do now?

He knew the rumors, what some people said about him and Bea. For the longest time, they had denied those rumors and now…now…

His eyes narrowed.

Now…he found that his desires were not so far-fetched, that perhaps…just perhaps…

Some of what had been said about he and the beautiful scholar, just some of it, might be…desirable, given the right circumstances.

He nodded.

Okay, he admitted it, now came the real question, the only one that mattered.

What exactly, was he going to do about it?

He sighed.

He did not wish to hurt Bea's work, or her, but at the same time, this…this wanting would get in the way.

He…he needed to do something, to test the waters, so to speak.

This…this would not be the same as it had been with Kallian; the elf had been the aggressor in their relationship. She had made it easy for him to speak his heart.

Bea would not be as easy. He…he…

He shook his head.

He had no idea how to woo a noble lady. What was acceptable and what was not. At the same time, he did not wish her to feel obligated to return his affections simply because he was the king.

He…he…

He threw up his hands.

Andraste's flaming knickers, he thought.

I'm in trouble.

The king sighed heavily.

He was in **serious** trouble.


	32. The Tower

**Chapter 32: The Tower**

"Why am I here, again?"

Alistair gave Shianni his most charming smile, well, what he hoped was his most charming smile. The elven Bann had not been entirely sold on what he was about to do. Hoped it would succeed, yes. Sure on her role in the whole affair, oh no.

"We're merely checking on Lady Glass' progress," he said, "You wished to see that progress for yourself, so I am granting you a tour."

The elf crossed her arms and gave him a fishy look.

Alistair's smile widened.

"That, and you are **my** _bestest_ friend here in the palace, and you want what is best for me and Lady Bea."

Shianni rolled her eyes.

The king was trying to be cute, it had likely gotten him what he wanted in the past, but the truth was a bit more…amusing.

Personally, she agreed with the match of Bridget Glass and the king, all those rumor mongers did not truly know her; the girl had steel in her spine and iron in her blood.

That and along with the fact that she was not like every other stuck up noble here in Denerim made the strongest case for the scholar and the king.

So she had come here to support him. If he needed an excuse to go and see Bea, then so be it, at least that is what king needed to be believe.

In truth, he was terrified of speaking with Lady Glass alone, especially now that he realized that he did want her. He had jabbered nervously for about five minutes before he had simply told her that he intended to see if Bea wanted to dine with him… _privately_.

Truthfully, Shianni did not see the reason for the king's nervousness. If he wanted her so badly, why did he not simply approach the girl's father? Arl Nathaniel, from what she had come to know about the man would not have turned down a royal proposal.

She had said as much to the king, but he had rejected the idea outright.

"No. Can't do it. Nope. Bea is not some…some… _commodity_ to be traded," he said, "If she decides that she wants to be with me, I want it to be by her own choice, her decision. If I just approached her family without discussing it with her first…"

The King frowned

"That would be bad, **baaaad**."

Shianni quirked her lips, as she fought off the urge to laugh.

She hated to admit it but she understood what he was talking about some elven brides, her cousin Kallian included had resented not having a say in who they should marry.

The fact that he did not want resentment from Lady Bea spoke volumes about the king.

She was starting to see what had drawn her cousin to the man in the first place, had he been an elf, she might have pursued him herself. Not that she would ever tell the king that.

She had no desire to make things…awkward.

Alistair shifted his feet nervously.

"Besides," he continued, "I don't think I would be up to discussing all this with the Arl, marriage pacts are…are… _uncomfortable_."

Again Shianni rolled her eyes. As an elf she had been forced to see arranging marriages quite differently. As Bann of the Alienages, she had been forced to take over the role of Hahren for her own Alienage, since their previous elder had been taken by Tevinter slavers. Since her appointment to the role she had helped negotiate no less than ten marriage contracts between the Alienages in Highever and Denerim.

She wrinkled her nose.

Mostly it all came down to dowries, and who would go to which Alienage. Kallian had balked at the system, but Shianni was quite comfortable with it.

She did not see why the King had to make this so complicated. She understood his desire to woo the scholar a bit first, but when it came to marriages…

That should have been cut and dried.

She sighed.

Still, the King **was** her friend, so she would do what she could to help him find happiness.

She owed it to Kallian to help the man she had loved find happiness.

No matter how awkward the situation seemed.

The two of them made their way towards the tower room that Bridget Glass had converted into her lab. The halls were mostly empty after the first staircase leading up from the royal wing.

The chantry's rumors about Lady Glass caused the less enlightened to give the scholar a wide birth. If not for the occasional guard, the whole tower might have been empty.

As they approached the door to the lab itself, the two nobles discovered that a third already waiting outside.

"Lady Cousland," Alistair said jovially, "Fancy meeting you here."

The warrior woman smiled.

"Your Majesty," she said with a slight bow, "Your Ladyship."

"Elissa," The elven Bann said with a nod, "Waiting to speak with Lady Glass, as well?"

"We are to meet for afternoon meal," Lis responded, "Once Bea completes her latest experiment that is."

Alistair let out a nervous laugh.

"Well, if you two already have plans, we shall not keep you from them. We shall…Ow! Hey?!"

Shianni had poked him in the ribs. He gave her a questioning look, but she did not quail under it.

In fact, she glared at him.

She had agreed to come up here; she was not just going to retreat now, because of one minor hitch.

She would not let the king chicken out of this."

"I'm thinking allowing some of Lady Glass' new plants to be seeded in the Alienage," she told the warrior. "Lingering effects left by the darkspawn have made growing anything there…difficult."

The elven noble smiled innocently.

"His Majesty here has graciously allowed me to tour the lab, so that I can pass what I have seen onto our elders."

She turned to the king.

"Is that not right, Your Majesty?"

Oh," Alistair stammered, "I…yes…that is exactly that. Seeing things, planting things, you can guess how this goes Lady Cousland."

The warrior woman blinked.

Clearly she did not get exactly what the king meant.

Since Shianni did not either, she supposed she was in good company.

Finally the warrior snorted.

"If His Majesty wished to enter, then he shall," she said stepping aside, "It is your palace after all."

The two stepped by as Lis opened the door for them.

"I would advise you not to touch anything," she said, "Some of the plants that Bea is working with are dangerous."

Alistair blinked.

Neither of them could see how a plant could be dangerous, poisonous if eaten, sure, but dangerous?

"We will be careful," Shianni promised as they stepped through the door…

Stepped through, and entered an entirely different new world.

Shianni's elven ears twitched.

She had heard some of the gossip spread by the elven servants about the Lady's lab, but she had dismissed it as embellishment.

Seeing it now…

The elf smiled.

Perhaps this was not such a waste of time after all.

IOI

Alistair blinked. For one brief moment he had forgotten that he was still in the palace, such was the change that Lady Glass had brought to this tower.

Once it had been a barracks for soldiers, two full divisions had been stationed her during the Orlesian occupation. Now it was a world transformed.

The king shook his head.

Even a mage would have been impressed.

Everywhere you looked plants was growing, and endless wall of green that made the tower room seem like a small jungle. The smell of flowers and good tilled earth filled his nostrils. Tables had been set up all around the room, most of them containing long troughs of damp soil. From several of these tables, long poles stretched out to the ceiling, and wrapped around each of them long creeping vines.

It was also quite warm in here. In the absence of sunlight, Lady Glass had turned to magic crystals fashioned by the circle of magi. Alistair had seen such things during his Templar days, but these were different. They shone brighter than any other crystal he had seen, likely mimicking sunlight.

Next to him, Shianni shook her head.

"She has only been here a few months, yet…look at this place."

Alistair could only nod, left speechless.

He could not help it, he was impressed.

Even the most jaded of Lady Glass' opponents would have been impressed.

Shianni approached one of the tables; a trough was filled with dozens of bright red wild flowers growing madly. The elf smiled at the sight of the large sweet smelling blossoms.

She started to raise her hand, about to touch one of the large leafy petals.

"Please do not do that."

She yanked her hand away, with a startled jump, not because of the statement, but of how it was delivered.

The voice was cold, and monotone. Both of the nobles turned and saw speaker.

Alistair's eyes narrowed and Shianni shivered.

It would be hard for anyone not to shiver.

The young woman standing before them might have been considered attractive once, but the drab gray robes and the short cut of her brown hair had stripped away any such beauty. Her eyes were glassy as empty as her voice. Upon her brow remained a dark red sunburst brand.

It was a rare thing to see one of the tranquil here in the palace.

Not that Alistair should have been surprised, he knew that the Circle supported Bea, and the tranquil were considered some of the best researchers in Thedas.

That did not make them any less creepy, however.

"Please do not touch that," the woman repeated, "The blossoms secrete a powerful acid."

The Tranquil tilted her head.

"You would not wish to be burned."

Shianni backed away. Alistair reached out with his warden senses for the first time, sensing the low hum of the taint about this place. Not enough infect anyone he suspected, but still enough to twist these plants into something more…sinister.

The king shook his head.

He immediately found himself worrying about Bea. He understood what she was doing, and what she needed to accomplish her research, but still…he had seen the worst effects of the darkspawn taint first hand.

He would not wish them on anyone.

"I'm Shianni," elven Bann said, "This is King Alistair."

The Tranquil bowed.

"Greeting Your Majesty, Milady, I am Talia, of the circle of magi, I am here at the request of Ambassador Petra, to aid the Lady Glass with her research."

"Greetings Talia," Alistair said, "I was hoping to speak with Lady Glass. We were told that she is here."

"Yes," the Tranquil responded, "She is currently finishing up an experiment. If you would like to wait here, I could fetch her."

"Actually we are here to see the labs," Shianni said, "The king and I had hoped to see some of Lady Glass' work."

The Tranquil nodded.

"Very well, Milady, if you will just follow me."

The Tranquil led them between the many tables, taking them deeper into the small maze. Everyone in a while she would motion to this plant or that, describing what the scholar hoped to accomplish with it.

Alistair looked down at the soil that some of the plants were growing in. Most were filled with the healthy black soil he was familiar with, but a few troughs contained the gray and purple sand that he had come to most associate with the darkspawn's passing.

He shook his head.

Most of the area around the remains of Lothering looked like that now, an endless landscape of bones and dead trees.

Yet he was gladdened to see that Bea had several plants growing in the tainted soil, these did not look as healthy as the flora by the doors, but it was clear that they were living. They were small though, and covered with wicked looking thorns or dripping noxious goo out of their blossoms.

The king pursed his lips.

Not the kind of flowers you would find in a lady's garden.

"These are first generations," Talia said gesturing to the tainted soil filled troughs. "Lady Glass has made strides in that these plants seem to draw the taint into them and out of the soil. It has made them more…dangerous then typical plant life, but with time they will purify the ground in which they are planted."

"What happens to the plants after they have done that?" Shianni asked.

"They will die, your ladyship, but in their place new plants will be able to grow, the soil might even be fit for crops one day…"

The tranquil paused.

"Lady Glass is most pleased."

"I'm certain," Alistair agreed, "Is it safe to assume that no magic has been used to achieve all this, you being a…a…

The tranquil blinked as she regarded the king.

He coughed nervously.

For a moment he feared he had insulted the woman, and then he realized that that was impossible.

As a tranquil, Talia could not feel insulted.

She could not feel anything.

"My main purpose here is to tend to the glow crystals, I'm quite skilled in their creation" she informed him, "beyond that Lady Glass has turned to no magic."

"So you take care of the light she needs?" Shianni added.

"And assist where I can," the Tranquil added, "I was chosen for this position because I grew up on a farm. I was quite fond of working in our garden, though I no longer remember why."

Again Shianni winced; she gave Alistair a sad look.

He did not know what to say.

Kallian had pitied the Tranquil too.

"Lady Glass should be over at the specimen table," she said, "If you follow me please."

Once again they started off, into Bridget Glass' green world.

Alistair glanced around at the many plants.

Whether she rejected his advances or not one thing was clear.

The two of them had much to talk about.


	33. Of Two Worlds

**Chapter 33: Of Two Worlds**

 _Yes._

One word, one syllable, such a simple thing when one thought about it, but at the same time, it had the power to turn all of Ferelden upside down.

It was with that thought alone that had Bridget Glass pacing back in forth in her room, that and what could realistically be called barely controlled panic.

Her heart pounded as she tried to examine what had happened earlier today. She had been working as usual, but then the King and Bann Shianni had shown up, touring her lab.

Bea worried her lip with her teeth, trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong. She had spent the last few months trying to keep her life on track, and then…with one single word…

…She had thrown it all away in a heartbeat.

 _What am I going to do?_ She thought, as she started pacing the opposite way.

 _What am I going to do?_

IOI

She had been at her specimen table, studying the growth of one of her many plants. The first seedling had only just pushed its way through the soil sometime, this morning, growing out of dirt that had been called lifeless when it had been brought here from the Blighted lands two days before.

The seedling required a great deal of water and quite a bit of warmth before it finally emerged. She had been trying to calculate how fast it would grow in the wild when Talia had called her attention to her guests.

She put down her quill, and the lenses she used when looking at her experiments up close. She had tried to be a good host, showing the nobles her work space, and the latest experiments she had been working on. She could not deny that she had made strides in the last few days. She hoped with the king's continued support and with Teyrn Cousland's permission she would be able to plant at least a few of her plants in the wild, and see if they performed in the field as well as they had done in the lab. That was the real test of course.

It was one thing to get a plant to grow in a controlled environment, it was quite another to get it to grow in nature.

The king had said he was impressed, at least she thought he had been. He had seemed more than a little…distracted. That sense of distraction seemed to be annoying the Bann of the Alienages, though Bea could not imagine why.

Of course, that was before he had asked her his question.

Now…she knew exactly why he was so nervous.

She remembered quite plainly that the King had been sweating quite profusely, at the time she had thought that not surprising, the glow crystals could make the tower quite warm. Bann Shianni had been almost glaring at him. She had kept asking the king if he had something he needed to say to her.

That was when the scholar felt the first stirrings of fear. She feared that the King had decided to terminate her position here that he had decided to take a different approach in trying to heal the lands in the south.

She had just been about to launch into a defense of her work when the king had finally mustered up the nerve to ask her his question. She replayed that conversation over and over in her head. She tried to see where everything had gone wrong.

Alas…she found no flaws.

"Lady Glass," he had begun.

"Yes," she had said.

"Do…um…do you um…have any plans this eve?"

"Just work Your Majesty," she had shrugged, "Several experiments here need my attention."

"Of course, of course," he had laughed nervously, "but will they keep you busy…all evening?"

"I don't believe so Your Majesty," she had said, "I have noticed no radical changes in my specimens, I will likely have time to break for dinner sometime this eve."

"Really," the king had said brightly, "that…that is good quite good, you…OW!"

Bann Shianni had accidently poked him in the ribs with her elbow, he barely noticed, even though Bea thought she saw Shianni mouth something to him.

He glanced the elf's way, and nodded.

She had nodded back curtly.

Bea had given them both a puzzled look.

"Right," His Majesty had continued, "Dinner, Dinner is important by the way. What I would like to know is, if you would like to dine this evening?"

"If Your Majesty wishes," she had said with a slight curtsey, "I can have a brief report ready for whoever is dining with you, if you desire, some of what I have discovered is a bit dry though. I will try to…"

"Oh…um…you don't need to go to all that trouble," he had assured her, "No one will be there to listen, not…not that I am not sure you would be brilliant. I already know you are, but…but that…that is not the point…and…and…"

Bea tilted her head, her eyes narrowed.

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?"

"Nope," he had said, "Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine…we are all fine here…thank you. We… we are…"

He glanced over at Shianni, who was still glaring at him.

The King swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

He managed a weak smile.

"Would you dine with me, Lady Glass, not as my scholar, just…just as yourself…um…please?"

Bea's eyes widened, her brain finally making sense of what she had been asked, sometimes she could be a little clueless when she got caught up in her work, but now…now...

The King was looking at her like a little lost puppy, one who only wanted its mistress' attention.

Now…she knew exactly what he meant.

It…it was…

Oh my!

He was asking to dine with her, as a man would a woman! This…this was…

Oh Maker, she thought.

Where…where had this come from? Had she done something to encourage him? She did not think so. If anything she had done everything in her power to discourage that…that kind of look.

After everything that had been said about her these last few months, she had done everything in her power to keep the King at arm's length. She had had no desire to cause a scandal.

Rumors about her were one thing, but this…this…

This could lend credence to those rumors; it could hurt His Majesty in the worst way possible!

She could not do that to him!

She couldn't.

"Lady Glass?" the king had said shyly.

She had almost whimpered.

She could not help it, the king looked so…so…cute, the look in his eyes…she…she…

She had shaken her head.

No.

She could not do it.

She could think of at least a hundred reasons why this whole thing was a bad idea. The King had many enemies, and so did she. It was in the King's best interest that they keep everything between them purely professional. What she was doing was for the good of Ferelden, there was no need to muddy the waters with scandal.

She would explain why she could not do this, and politely explain why. King Alistair was an enlightened man who cared deeply for his country, he would understand, she would make sure that he understood.

She would let him down gently, both for the good of the nation, and her work.

Forget those puppy dog eyes, they were irrelevant, it was all irrelevant.

She opened her mouth and…

"Yes."

Bea blinked.

Wait?

What?!

The King brightened.

"Re…really?"

"Yes," she repeated.

What in Andraste's name am I doing?

She gave him that little smile of hers.

"Yes," she said, "tonight."

The King gave her a lopsided happy grin.

"Good," he said happily, "I…that is good…um Wow!"

He gave her a warm smile.

"Um…ah…until…um…until tonight then?"

She had nodded, her conscience screaming every obscenity she knew for her stupid, stupid response.

"Yes…um…tonight."

The king had fled then, almost skipping out of the lab, Talia went after him, making sure he did not bump the plants.

Shianni sighed heavily. She gave the scholar a pleased grin.

"Finally," she said with a giggle, "I swear; he is worse than my cousin Soris."

The Bann followed after their Monarch, leaving the scholar alone with her work and her spinning mind.

Now…she did whimper.

 _What have I done?_ She thought.

 _What in the name of Andraste's flaming ass have I done?_

IOI

"There has got to be a way out of this?"

Bea continued to pace. Normally, when she was this troubled, she would have turned to her brother Arland for advice, but alas, Arland was not here, he was still on a ship to Cumberland, fetching Quentin's bride to be.

She shook her head.

She had really messed up this time.

She had royally messed up, no pun intended.

In Arland's absence, she had been forced to turn to her closest allies here in the capital. Margaret sat on the small love seat before her, working on her needle point. Lis sat in the old arm chair they had brought from their home in Waking Seas, Bea had always loved that chair. She had spent many a night reading in it.

Talia stood at parade rest behind Em. Bea hated to admit it, but she had been extremely put off by the tranquil girl at first, that cool even voice, those blank empty eyes.

Ambassador Petra assured her that she could not find a better lab assistant in all of Thedas. The tranquil excelled at scholarly pursuits.

She had given the girl a chance, and the mage ambassador had been proven right. She had come to depend on Talia's work ethic.

How that could help her here, she was not sure.

"Why do you wish to escape this meal," the Tranquil asked, "It is only logical that you require food?"

Em chuckled at that.

"It is not the food that scares, my sweet baby sister, Talia," Margaret smirked, "It is what might happen after the food."

Bea glared at her, glared and blushed.

"What?" Em shrugged, "Did I say something wrong?"

Bridget gave her a pained look and continued pacing.

Lis, who had finally changed out of her armor into a simple tunic and leggings, shook her head.

"From what I have heard, you have little to worry about concerning…"

The warrior pursed her lips, trying to come up with the right words.

"With...that," she said finally said, "His Majesty does not seem the type to…expect certain things from a woman."

Bea glared at her friend.

"I'm…I'm not worried about that," she said flatly, "The King is a gentleman, I don't doubt that fact. What I'm worried about is how this is all going to look."

She winced.

"I'm worried about what people are going to say about all this."

Bea shook her head again.

"I've worked so hard to protect His Majesty, to protect his image. I…I had thought he understood what was at stake here. I'm well aware of the fact that I'm not well liked here in the capital."

She sighed.

"Why would he want to bring my enemies down on his head?"

Em and Lis glanced at each other, no doubt trying to think of what best to say.

Bea pursed her lips.

Maybe she could find some herb in the kitchens, something that would make her ill. If she was ill, certainly the king would understand that…wouldn't he?

Em sniffed, and smiled.

"Perhaps we should tell Father about this."

"NO!" Bea said quickly.

The fervor in her voice stopped her elder sister in her tracks.

Bea's fists curled in anger.

"Father has been hoping that something like this might happen since the beginning, I'm sure of it."

Bea sighed.

"What was I thinking? Quarters in the royal wing, the full support of the Chancellor, it was likely all some cruel scheme, and now it is going to blow up in His Majesty's face!"

Bea almost sobbed.

"I don't want this," she almost wailed, "I never wanted this! I…I can't go through this again."

"I can't."

Lis Cousland frowned.

"Go through what again, Bea?"

The scholar moved to her bed and fell face first on the mattress, she shrieked into the feather pillow.

Her three guests all rose and went to her side.

Bea sobbed into the pillow.

"Sis," Margaret said shyly, "Whatever is the matter?"

Lis, not used to such displays kept her distance; the problem with being around soldiers is that she had learned to hold her emotions in check.

Talia stared curiously at the scholar, witnessing now what she could never feel herself.

Margaret touched her sister's shoulder. It shook with barely controlled sobs.

"Not again," she murmured into her pillow, "Not again."

Em stroked her hair.

"Shh, sister," she cooed, "shh, it is not going to be like before. The king…he…he is not Rene."

Lis' brow furrowed.

"Rene?" she asked, "Who is Rene?"

Bea looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

"The biggest mistake of my life," she moaned, "I…I should have…should have known better, but…but I didn't…"

Em let Bea rest her head against her shoulder, her sobbing had finally stopped. Bea felt like a fool losing it in front of both Em and Lis, but…

She could not help it.

It had been a long time coming.

"Is that business with Rene, why you have been so…so professional…so impersonal these last few months?"

Bea whimpered.

Rene had hurt her, and hurt her **badly**. He had been her first love, her only love for almost a year. He had seen the woman behind the scholar, and had coaxed her to come out and play. It felt like she was a child of two worlds, the noble and the scholar. The scholar demanded her mind be sharp and clear, while the noble pushed her heart towards the duty to her family. Rene had understood both sides of her, and for a time…she had been happy.

After his…his rejection she had thrown herself into her work, it had been the perfect escape. She had disappeared into her role as the scholar from the University of Orlais, and that role had served her well.

She had known better with Rene, she had should have known better. He was the scion of a high and noble family, while she was the daughter of a glorified trader.

Now it was happening again. Even if the king was being honest with her, it would not matter.

She frowned.

Father might be the Arl of Denerim now, but that still did not change who they were, who she was.

Bea sobbed into her sister's shoulder.

In time, His Majesty would have to choose a proper woman, one who could sit beside him on the throne, and be mother to his children.

That wasn't her…it could never be her.

A single tear ran down Bea's face.

She was a child of two worlds…

…but it would never be her.


	34. Power

**Chapter 34: Power**

"This is excellent, Your Ladyship!"

Lorelei smiled. She didn't bother to tell her current dinner companion that the wine they were drinking was the least expensive bottle from her cellar, that had she served it to another noble they might have been insulted by her lack of respect.

Fortunately, the man she was dining with this eve was no noble. He wasn't even wealthy, not in the physical sense anyway.

"I'm pleased that you think so guardsman," she cooed, "I had a feeling that you might enjoy a rare vintage, especially considering what I have heard about you."

The man smiled back, it was an ugly uneven thing. Men like Guardsman Jerod were not used to the finer things in life. Lorelei understood that better than most.

After all, until recently the finer things in life were new to her, but now…now...

She had had plenty of time to get used to them.

"I hope the meal has been to your liking," she sipping from her goblet.

The man raised his and saluted her.

"It has been positively noble, Your Ladyship," he chuckled, "who knows, once I get my reward, I might have to steal your cook from you."

Lorelei smirked.

"My good man," she said with a snort, "Wars have started over less."

The chuckled again and downed the contents of his goblet.

The girl did her best to hide her distaste. The man was not only lowborn but he was a slob as well.

She was grateful she would not have to deal with him again after tonight.

IOI

Following the "suicide" of Bann Esmerelle, Lorelei had quickly gotten to work building up her network of contacts. She only got involved herself when she truly had to, Mister Jesper was an excellent proxy as she recruited both new allies, and converted the few that had survived the wardens' purge of Esmerelle's conspirators.

Among the most useful of those survivors was an apostate mage named Melcendra. Melcendra had been part of a coven associated with the Independent mages collective. Her fellows had died with Lorelei's father in the Arl of Denerim's estate. Now, left all alone, the mage had had nowhere to turn but the late Arl Howe's former allies.

It had been Melcendra who had dealt with those loose ends at the farmhouse near Highever. It was during those events that she had first caught Lorelei's eye. Her skill with the craft was undeniable. It was to her that Lorelei turned when she needed a mentor to help her develop her gift of magic, Bann Esmerelle had encouraged their relationship, as long as the girl kept it secret. Since the death of Bann Esmerelle that was no longer necessary, Lorelei had taken the woman as a lady in waiting of sorts, she acted as both a servant and chaperone as the young noble woman conducted her business.

Only in matters of magic did the noble consider the woman her superior, and even that would change as Lorelei's talent grew.

Even now she stood in the shadows, waiting for her young mistress' word if she was needed. Lorelei did not think that would be necessary. Jesper was just outside the door, listening, if he was needed he could be there in mere moments.

It would likely be necessary, the young Bann realized, but first she had to see if the information the man had was worth the food she had wasted on him.

This was not the first lowborn guest she had entertained. The last few weeks had seen many people pas through her parlor. Most nobles would never have associated with such people, but Lorelei's origin gave her a unique view of things.

She found herself thinking back to the first lesson the Duchess had taught her. One she had made sure the girl had learned even before noble custom and courtesy.

Lorelei smiled.

That lesson was: Knowledge was power.

Merchants, washerwomen, law clerks, and scribes all were privy to very juicy information. The nobles they served hoped that their reputations alone would motivate their lessors to keep their mouths shut. Lorelei knew it was not that simple. Anyone and everyone had a price, she had found.

It was just a matter of finding out how much and where to send it.

Mister Jesper had a talent for finding such people, men and women who were not above passing on secrets for the right price and a bit of flattery. In the short time since she had been crowned Bann of Amaranthine, Lorelei had quickly built a reputation as woman who was not afraid to throw coin around if it got her what she wanted.

The Bann almost giggled.

It was amazing how quickly people gave up their secrets here in the capital, she had expected…well…more from them.

The funny thing was if any one of them knew who her father was, they likely never would have been so free with the secrets they had passed on. Rendon Howe had had little support from his fellow nobles by the time he had met his end.

The Bann pursed her lips.

She would change all that.

She would make the Howe name something to be feared again.

All it would take was time, a little patience, and a lot of information.

Time she had, patience too…

Now all she needed was to build up her information, find out all the right secrets.

Then…everything would fall into place.

Thanks to an old friend in the chantry, she now knew who had really been behind the attack on the Glass sister's on the King's road outside of Highever. She had no hard evidence yet, but had her people looking into it. She also knew that Secretary Rich was still digging into the matter too.

Lorelei had already taken steps to assure that the man found nothing.

Mister Jesper had already dealt with two men who might have led the king's Secretary to the true conspirators behind that plot. It had been a necessary precaution, one that she had not hesitated in making.

Now…she simply had to decide what to do with that information.

She could have told the king of course, and that might have resulted in the removal of the Orlesian Ambassador and the possible execution of Mother Allison, it also would have gained her a great deal of prestige with the royal court, but still…the Bann decided it would be better not to be hasty.

She had leverage on both the Ambassador and the Chantry now.

It would be a shame to waste either.

All she had to do now was find out how best to use that leverage. Ferelden still needed Orlesian goods for the moment, so it would not be the most beneficial to implicate them in the death of some of the king's favorites.

As for the chantry, the mothers' reach was long.

Lorelei would eventually think of some way to use that reach, and when she did, it would be to her singular advantage.

For now, she needed to tend to the needs of her guest. Mister Jesper had been whispering in the all the right ears that the Bann would pay handsomely for any piece of valuable…and secret information.

The man Jerrod had approached him without a second thought. He was a guardsman in Fort Drakon. He had survived the siege of Denerim, and the fall of the Archdemon. Now, he had something that he felt the Bann would be very interested in. Something, according to him, was very secret, and therefore valuable.

Lorelei had decided to at least hear him out.

Who knew, the guard might have heard something really damning, Maker knew he was around enough nobles during his shifts in Fort Drakon.

Surely something illicit had found its way into his ears.

The Bann leaned back in her chair.

"Now good ser," she began, "My associate tells me that you witnessed something most…interesting."

The Bann's smile widened.

"If it is something good, you may actually find yourself able to afford my cook's wages when you seek to buy him away."

The Guardsman chuckled again.

"I think you will be most intrigued, Your Ladyship," he said, "I have heard how you offer fat prizes to any who have something really juicy for you. I think you will agree what I know…it is as juicy as a well ripened fruit."

"We will see, good ser," she said with a nod, "We shall see."

The guardsman nodded and began his tale.

"What do you know of the elf who slew the Archdemon, Your Ladyship?"

"I know she died," Lorelei responded, "Everyone knows that. Her funeral in Redcliffe was quite the spectacle I have been told."

The guardsman snickered.

"But most people don't know what happened before the funeral, before the wardens came and took possession of the body."

The man sneered.

"That is an interesting tale in itself."

Lorelei pursed her lips. She did not see the value of what had happened to the body of a dead knife-ear. Still, this knife-ear had brought down a tainted god, and helped murder her father…

Those two acts alone, made her final moments worthy of note.

"After the battle," the guard continued, "I was assigned to watch over the warden's body. Boring work, Your Ladyship, I don't mind saying. Having to listen to the king blubber over some elven tart, not to mention the rest of the outlaws she had travelled with, they were not proper folk, Your Ladyship, let me tell you."

Lorelei nodded and bade the man to continue.

"anyway, the old mage they had travelling with them, Winnie I think her name was, put some kind of spell on the body, to make sure it did not rot you understand. Then they shut it away, kept it safe behind locked doors in the darkest part of the fort."

The man shook his head.

"I spent most of my days during that first week just watching over that body, making sure no one did anything…untoward to it. No mourners were permitted to see her, only the old mage and that red haired chantry sister that had fought with the warden were allowed in."

Again, Lorelei nodded, still not seeing the value of what she was hearing. She was about to summon Jesper when the story became more…interesting.

"Then…one night, a week or so after the warden died, some chantry mother shows up. Not one of the Revered Moms here in Denerim, but someone with fancy robes, from Val Royeaux no question."

The Bann pursed her lips.

"Did you catch this mother's name?"

"Dory…something," the man said, "One of the fancy Orlesian names…Dor…Dor…Dorethea, that is right. Mother Dorethea."

Lorelei's eyes narrowed.

What would a Revered Mother from Val Royeaux be doing in Denerim after the Blight? The border had still been sealed, someone would have had to have smuggled her in.

Suddenly this story had taken a more interesting turn.

"Now this Chantry Mother met with the old mage and the red haired sister. There was some arguing back and forth, I didn't hear all of it, but it was definitely something."

What was being discussed?

"Getting the warden out of Denerim, quiet like," the man responded.

"You mean getting the body out?"

"I'm guessing so, Your Ladyship, anyway the red haired woman left, I didn't hear where she was going. I traded shifts with another guard that night; he wanted to spend time with his family see. Well I was on duty late that night when the red haired sister returned. She said something to the old woman, and the mother brought in two Templars. From their accents I guess they were Orlesian too, well…one of them carried in a big heavy package, wrapped in bandages."

"What kind of package?" Lorelei asked.

The guardsman smiled.

"Big," he repeated, "Large enough to be a body, too small to be a human maybe…"

Lorelei smiled.

"But large enough to be an elf?"

"Yeah," that is what I thought too."

The Bann nodded.

"What happened next?"

"I had three more guard shifts over the next two days. The mage and that red haired sister were always there, and they kept the door locked. The one time I got a chance to peek inside, I thought

I spotted two bodies lying in state in that room. The old mage closed the door before I could get too good a look, but it certainly looked like they had two bodies in there."

Lorelei nodded.

Curious, she thought…

…Very curious.

What was the wardens' friends playing at, and why involve the chantry?

Most curious.

"When was the next time you saw into the room?" she inquired.

"When the Grey Wardens finally arrived," he admitted, "By then, the body was all packed up and ready for transport, fancy coffin and everything."

"And the second body?" she asked.

"No sign of it," the guard shrugged.

The Bann pursed her lips.

"Could it have been removed when you were off duty?"

"Nothing came out of that room," he said, "The men who replaced me only saw the red haired sister going out to get food for herself and the old mage. No one took anything out of that room."

The man smirked.

"I think someone would have noticed them moving a body through the halls of Fort Drakon."

Again, Lorelei nodded.

Interesting.

Most interesting.

"What about the Orlesian Mother and her Templars?"

"Never saw them again after that first night," he said, "When all was said and done, the red haired sister offered me fifty gold pieces, told me not to repeat what I had seen, any of it."

Lorelei giggled.

"I guess you didn't keep that promise."

"Never promised the woman anything, Your Ladyship, besides, she was Orlesian."

The man sneered.

"When have they done anything for us?"

Again the Bann giggled.

"Quite right, my good man, quite right."

Lorelei's mind spun with possibilities. On the surface, though curious, this didn't seem to be that important, but when put into the right ears…"

Lorelei smiled.

She would need to find out more about this Mother Dorethea, and her relationship to the warden and her companions.

It seemed she might have found her reason to use the leverage she had on Mother Allison, but first, she needed to make sure this tale went no farther.

She rang the tiny bell next to her plate.

Mister Jesper slipped into the room.

The noble smiled.

"Who else has heard this story?" she asked her guest.

"No one, Your Ladyship," the man assured her, "Who would even care, much less pay to hear about this?"

Lorelei smiled a predatory smile.

"Who indeed," she agreed.

Jesper began to move up behind the guardsman, his steps as quiet as a shadow.

The Bann poured herself some more wine.

"I trust your discretion in this matter, good ser." She said leaning back putting her goblet to her lips.

"For what you are paying, Your Ladyship," the man chuckled, "I will be as quiet as the dead."

Lorelei giggled at that.

"Oh I'm certain of that good ser," she said jovially.

She nodded.

Jesper pounced.

He wrapped a leather garrote around the man's neck, and squeezed tightly. The guardsman's eyes bulged. He grasped ineffectually under Jesper's iron grip.

Lorelei giggled into her wine, the bubbles tickling her nose.

The guardsman gasped, his face quickly turning from red to blue.

The Bann did not take her eyes off the murder, she watched as Mister Jesper's muscled bulged as he tightened his grip.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She could not help it.

She loved watching Jesper work.

It serious turned her on.

A final death rattle emerged from the guardsman's throat. He slumped back in his chair.

Lorelei smiled at Mister Jesper.

The handsome blonde haired man smiled as he dumped her guest's body on the floor next to the table.

He moved the chair just enough so that he could sit down. He took a long hard swig from the dead man's goblet.

He coughed.

"Blessed Andraste, he spat, "the man had poor taste in wine."

Again, Bann Lorelei giggled.

 _She_ _ **loved**_ _Jesper's sense of humor._

She sniffed and looked down at the body.

The look in her eyes was pure distaste.

"Make sure **that** is never found," she said.

The young man nodded. He emptied his goblet and went over to the body; he took it by the arms and dragged it out of the room, down the nearest servant's entrance. From there it would disappear, she had no doubt.

Jesper knew how to keep things secret.

Lorelei smirked.

She might have been tempted to let the man live, but he had already betrayed one trust by telling her his story.

She could not risk him telling anyone else.

She sat back, with a contented sigh.

"What had happened that night in Fort Drakon? What had the chantry done with the warden's body, if anything?"

Good questions all and she would do her best to find the answers.

She chuckled to herself.

Once again, the Duchess had been proven right, she thought.

Knowledge **was** power.


	35. A Seed

**Chapter 35: A Seed**

The first…private meal between Bridget Glass and King Alistair was not the most comfortable affair for the two nobles. In fact, it was likely one of the most awkward evenings of their lives.

True they had spent time together in the past; various functions that they had both been in attendance for, but this was the first time to the two of them had had any real privacy.

Such privacy had made the situation…quite tense.

The King had been suffused with nervous energy for most of the day. He had wanted everything to be perfect. He had made sure that his schedule would be completely open this meeting. He had given orders that only the most dire of problems were acceptable for interruption.

He had turned to Wilbur Rich for aid. His secretary, with his many contacts, could find out much about his guest's likes and desires.

He wanted the meal to be perfect.

Mister Rich did as he was commanded, but once again advised caution. There were still shadows in the Glass family history, old slights that had House Glass wished to seek revenge on Alistair's family, such an event would be an excellent place to start.

The King having heard some of that history from both Chancellor Eamon and Bea herself was not worried. Alistair had proven to be a friend and patron of both Bea and her House as a whole.

Surely that was enough to kill any past…grudges.

Rich had given him a knowing smile.

"Do not be so quick to dismiss past slights, Your Majesty. There are noble in Ferelden and elsewhere that live for the chance to settle scores."

The Secretary gave him that oily smile.

"I've heard of noble grudges that have lasted centuries, long after one of the parties was long dead, and still their rancor reaches out of the past, causing death and destruction to a generation that had nothing to do with the slights of the past."

Rich sighed.

"Just be careful, Your Majesty. The Glass family should not be trusted completely."

Alistair acknowledged that fact. Yet, Bea did not seem to care about her family's history.

He was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

As the time of their meal approached, he grew more and more nervous, twice he had had to change his shirt, and his hands felt cold even though the room was quite warm.

He had tried his best to calm himself. He had spent time with the lady before, this would be no different.

Except, of course, that this would be the first time they would be spending time together…alone.

That thought made him swallow hard.

Oh Maker!

What if he said something stupid?

What if he made some horrible faux pas at dinner and insulted her?

What if he spilled his wine all over her?

Dozens of horrible possible scenarios danced through his mind. This…this was nothing like his rather…unorthodox courtship of Kallian, they had been fellow warriors, facing life and death everyday had brought them far closer than anyone could have expected.

He had known what to expect of Kallian, and she had known him.

The king almost whimpered.

What he wanted to have with Bea…what he was trying to build with her was not like that. This whole royal courtship thing he feared was beyond him.

By the time she had arrived he felt like a man going to his execution.

He had been a fool pursuing this.

Only one thought kept him going now.

 _Try not to screw this up._

The king shook his head.

That was easier said than done.

IOI

Bea was trying to remain calm.

As she had prepared for this meal, nervous energy suffused her body.

She had bathed, selected one of her nicest gowns, and let Em help her with her makeup and hair. Margaret advised her to leave her hair down. The king, she had noticed, preferred it that way.

Bea had nodded, trying very hard not to think of everything that could go wrong tonight.

She tried to push all thought of her failed relationship with Rene out of her head. She tried to remind herself that the Marquis' son was not the King of Ferelden.

She knew what kind of a man the king was. She had spent time with him, and needed to focus on that.

Of course, the time they had spent together had been official events, or hunts with many friend and allies.

The scholar swallowed hard.

This would not be easy.

The last two times they had been alone together had both been disasters. The first outside the stable, and the second during their private dancing lesson, on both occasions she had ended up fleeing the capital, over reactions perhaps, but…

She could only imagine what horrible thing might happen today.

The very thought made her whimper.

She had turned to her sister in near panic.

"What do I say?" she begged, "How am I even supposed to act tonight?"

Em had given her a knowing smile.

"You're probably going to have to test the waters first," he sister advised, "In the beginning at least, try small talk, the weather, the court, that kind of thing, if that doesn't work turn the conversation back on His Majesty."

"How?"

Em sighed.

"Gush, sister," she advised, "Talk about how honored you are to be in the presence of our king. He was a war hero, after all, ask him about his victories. Compliment his successes since taking the throne, you know, gush."

Bea considered that.

It had been easy talking to Rene, he had made it easy. He had been a poet and a writer, words had been his craft. He had often dazzled her during their conversations. Was it any wonder she had little skill in fraternizing beyond discussing her work?

"Stay away from work talk, if you can," Em advised, "Forgive me sister, but you have a tendency to bore people with your plants. You don't want to bore the king do you?"

She had shaken her head "no."

Margaret gave her shoulders a warm squeeze.

"Remember your court training," she said, "Father prepared you for this, and if you can swim with the sharks in the court of Orlais, you should have no problem navigating the waters here."

Bea nodded; a weak smile came to her lips.

Em kissed her forehead.

"Just remember sister," she said.

"Yes?"

Margaret's expression turned serious.

"Our family's fortunes may be at stake here."

Her hands tightened on Bea's shoulders.

"Try not to screw this up for us."

Margaret left her then, leaving an icy chill to run down Bea's spine.

Try not to screw this up, she thought.

That was easier said than done.

IOI

By the time that Bea was introduced, Alistair's heart was pounding rapidly.

He was trying very hard not think of the dream he had had about the pretty young scholar, trying to focus on not making a complete and utter fool of himself, again.

Bea stepped into the room; her gown was a dark iron blue, set off with silver highlights. Her dark hair flowed gently down her back; around her slender neck was the Glass family pendant that he remembered from her first appearance at court.

The king rose as she entered stepping in front of the servant that was already moving to get the lady's chair.

"Your Majesty?" the man whispered, sounding confused.

The Lady paused, unsure of what to do.

Alistair cursed silently to himself.

Off to a bad start already.

He tried his best to salvage it.

"I…um… have this my good man," he said to the servant, "But thanks anyway."

The man nodded accepting his lord's comment.

Bea entered the room; she fought the urge to rub her face with her hand not wanting to spoil her makeup.

Alistair gestured for her to be seated.

"Your Majesty," she cooed slightly.

She sat and let him push her chair in.

He smiled nervously as he took his own seat, trying really hard not to stare.

He did not want to embarrass her, but he could not help it.

She…she was a vision tonight.

Bea refused to meet his gaze. She kept her hands on her lap, fearing that they might start shaking.

The first course of their meal arrived. As always Alistair looked down at the arrangement of cutlery before him, his mind had gone blank about which spoon to use on the soup.

Bea noticing his discomfort smiled slightly.

"Start outside and work your way in," she murmured.

Alistair managed a nervous laugh.

"Thanks," he said sheepishly.

The first ten minutes of their meal went like that, a pregnant yet embarrassed silence. Neither was comfortable with formality of the affair, nor were they sure how best to break the awkwardness.

Alistair feared that he might say something foolish and insult her.

Bea was afraid what might be said if this all went wrong.

The tension continued to grow, to expand, like a volcano ready to explode.

By the time the main course arrived neither could stand it anymore.

The King sighed.

"Was this a bad idea on my part?" he inquired.

Bea almost hiccupped.

Part of her wanted to launch into a long tirade why this was such a bad idea. Everything she knew about court life and status gave extreme example of why this was such a bad idea.

Yet, she could not say that to him, not to Alistair.

She sighed.

"Not…um…not a bad idea," she said, "but awkward yes, most awkward."

The king nodded in agreement.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked.

Bea shrugged.

Now that the high dragon in the room had been acknowledged, maybe they could find a way to get around it.

She pursed her lips.

"I've spent most of the afternoon worrying about what I was going to say to you tonight."

Alistair blinked.

"Really," he inquired, "Why?"

Bea suppressed nervous giggle.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not really popular here in the capital. Everything I know about being a scholar is screaming at me for accepting this. All the rumors about you and me…"

She shook her head.

"I don't want them to hurt you."

The king considered her words. Yes, he had heard the rumors, hard not to…

Bea took his silence as acceptance that this was a mistake.

"I…um…ah…I should go," she said, starting to rise.

Alistair's hand shot out and found hers, pining it to the table.

The speed and urgency of the move stopped her in her tracks.

His grip was not hard or hurtful, but it was firm, and warm.

She gave the king an arched look.

He gave her a nervous look.

"Sit," he murmured, "please."

Bea did as she was commanded. She could almost feel the king's heart beating through his hand, so strong and fast was his heart at that moment.

She prayed that he did not notice that hers was beating the same way.

The king sighed.

"I'm no stranger to rumor, Milady," he said, "My whole life I've dealt with rumors. For years people thought me the Arl of Redcliffe's bastard, after that I was sent to the chantry, and rumors about my relationship to the king caused most people there to think I either put on airs, or called me a bastard and ignored me."

Alistair shook his head.

"When I joined the wardens, I had hoped that all that would change. Then…then Ostagar happened and I was forced to do things that I…that I never thought were possible. Kallian…she…"

Alistair suppressed a whimper. It was probably not good form to talk about his dead lover in front of this woman, but the flood gates were open. He was tired of keeping all this to himself, of letting it sit in the pit of his stomach and let it slowly consume him…

He…he was attracted to Bea, there he acknowledged it, but acknowledging it wasn't enough.

He needed to get all this out in the open. He needed her to understand.

He was not just the king, just as he did not think that she was just his scholar.

He…he wanted her to know him.

Rumors be damned.

"Kallian and I were close. She helped put me on the throne because she believed that that was the best possible way to help us defeat the Blight."

Alistair shook his head.

"I keep expecting everyone to realize that they have made a mistake. That putting me here was the worst idea ever conceived in Thedas."

He let his hand drift away from hers. Yet, he looked directly into those beautiful blue eyes of hers. He was nervous, frightened even that she would think him weak and flee his presence, if she did that he was not sure that he would be able to face her again, but still…what he was saying…it had to be said.

Being the king, being her king, it felt like a joke. He would rather she knew that now.

He wanted her to see him as he was, no more hiding, no more regrets.

He swallowed hard and pursed his lips.

"I have heard what is said about you and me," he said grimly, "And Maker save me, I don't care. I didn't ask you here tonight because I had some noble plan or way to expand your work.

His eyes turned pained.

"I asked you here tonight, because…because I wanted to spend time with you, not as the king, but as me, as Alistair."

He gave her sheepish grin.

"There I have said it. Heart spilled out and…and everything. I'll understand if you think I've been fooling myself."

IOI

Bea swallowed hard.

With only a few words, His Majesty, no Alistair, had completely shifted her view of him and the world she had been in these last few months.

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

No noble in Orlais would ever have done what Alistair had just done, lay himself bare before someone. There was always something guarded in the empire, something hidden. The masks made it easier. Orlesians said that it made it easier to reveal their true selves, but she was not so sure.

The masks also made it easier to distance oneself from the world, to hide a small part of yourself, and keep it hidden.

The King, His Majesty, no…she reminded herself, Alistair, to her he would always be Alistair now.

She shivered slightly.

The only question was; what was she going to do now?

He said he did not care about the rumors, but still they remained. He…she…they…

She shook her head.

Alistair gave her a pleading look.

"Have I fooled myself," he asked her.

Bea smiled that small smile of hers.

"No," she said meekly.

She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead.

It was not really romantic, but…there was an intimacy there something that had not been there before.

Alistair blushed slightly.

"I…um…I take it that was a good sign?"

Bea placed her hand on his, her fingers gently massaging the top of his palm.

He took her fingers in his entwined them affectionately.

"It is a seed, Alistair," she purred softly.

She blushed under his warm smile.

"I'm willing to see what grows out of it, if you are?"

He took her hand and pulled it to his lips.

"I am…Bea," he said lightly kissing her knuckle.

"I am."

IOI

It was late when Bridget Glass finally left the king's quarters. Nothing…romantic had happened; she had certainly not found herself in the king's bed…

She smiled slightly.

She could imagine the exaggerated rumors that would start to spread tomorrow. When she had left she had kissed Alistair's forehead and he her hand once again. That was the limit of their physical contact this eve.

The scholar sighed.

The king…he was a good man, far too good for a noble life, she thought.

She only hoped that he would not lose that goodness as his duties asked more and more of him in the coming months.

Power was not an easy thing to manage.

She would do what she could to help him through it.

As she had told him, tonight a seed had been planted.

Now the two of them would see what sprang from it.

Now they would see where they would go from here.

She found her way back to her room. One of the guards nodded to her as she passed.

She smiled and returned that greeting.

She slipped into her room, feeling warm and contented after the emotional turmoil of the day. She…

She looked up and frowned.

She was not alone.

Her father stood next to the window looking down over the city, in her old arm chair sat Chancellor Eamon.

Both had serious expressions on their faces.

Bea frowned.

She really needed to speak to the guards about informing her when she had…guests.

"Hello, Sweetheart," her father said coolly.

"Papa," she said with a slight curtsey.

She turned to Eamon.

"Your Grace."

Eamon sighed.

"Lady Glass," he said rising from his chair.

"It is time that we talked."


	36. Allies

**Chapter 36: Allies**

The week following Bea and Alistair's first meal together was a busy one of the scholar.

Since the two of them had decided to…explore whatever it was they had, Bea's life had become much more complicated. It was no longer enough to simply be a scholar under the king's patronage. She had stepped foot into the lion's den so to speak…

And her father and the chancellor were determined to make sure she was prepared for it.

All this was made clear to her the night she returned from the king's quarters. The Chancellor was most pleased that she had caught Alistair's eye, and father was more than pleased. After everything had happened these last few months, at last he had a daughter in the king's good graces.

Neither Arl Glass nor the Chancellor was willing to let that slip away.

"You have a necessary role to play Lady Glass, the Chancellor had stressed, "His Majesty needs a woman at his side, a woman who can finally solidify his rule."

Her Father had grinned triumphantly.

"I'm so proud you, Sweetheart," he practically purred, "You have found not only a chance for true happiness, but a chance to advance our house as well."

Bea had said nothing to that; really…what could she say?

Her Father had continued to grin like the cat that had ate the canary.

"You should be proud as well."

The Scholar had not really known how to respond to all this. She had come to suspect what was going on, but to finally hear it from both the Chancellor and her father…

She had pursed her lips.

Believing in something was one thing, having that belief confirmed.

That changed everything.

She still tended to her duties in her lab, tending to her plants, but now…now there were new demands of her time. The Chancellor recognized that she needed to move beyond the rumors that had dogged her all these months. She needed to take her place in Denerim High Society.

To that, the Chancellor turned to the one woman he could trust…

…his wife.

Bea had spent much time in the last week with Isolde Guerein; the experience was not as…pleasant as the Chancellor had promised. Isolde knew noble politics that was clear, but at the same time, Bea found the woman…grating. The Chancellor was not wrong about her having a high place in society, but that was due more to his position than the Lady's…skill.

The nobles of Denerim were eager to please the wife of the chancellor, no matter how shrill her voice was, or how demanding or high handed she could be.

The woman's only saving grace in Bea's eyes was her love for her daughter. Recently she and the chancellor had been blessed with a beautiful baby girl, their daughter Rowan.

Bea had even gotten to hold the dear little thing once. The experience both frightened and excited her…

She…she had developed fascination with babies in the last few years. Such frail little things…yet they quickly became the center of a mother's world.

It was an intriguing sensation.

Isolde was extremely protective of her daughter. Bea might not have even gotten near her if not for her standing with the King. The chancellor's wife was polite enough when speaking of Alistair, but she got the feeling that too much history remained between the two for them to ever completely be free of old…animosities.

Alistair had commiserated with her when he learned of Isolde's new interest in her. One night, two days after her time with the Chancellor's wife had begun; he had saved her from Isolde and a gaggle of her noble…friends. His Majesty had said he needed to confer with her about seeding her latest batch of plants in an area near the Blighted lands in the south. She had gone willingly of course.

After they had been out of earshot, Bea had sighed.

"Thank you," she had murmured.

"Maker bless you."

The King had chuckled.

"I find that Lady Isolde is good only in small doses," he replied.

His hand brushed hers fondly.

"You seemed in danger of overdosing.

She had laughed lightly.

It was amazing how easily Alistair could do that, make her laugh.

She…she had misses feeling such freedom.

Not that the king did not claim his reward for her rescue later.

The mere thought made her blush.

He had walked her back to her quarters. The two of them had stood nervously before her door, both blushing.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she had cooed.

She had leaned in, to kiss him on the cheek.

Alistair had had other ideas.

He turned slightly, not much really, just enough…

Their lips met.

The kiss was chaste, at first, and then…things had become more…interesting.

He had wrapped his arms around her; he licked her lower lip, making her gasp.

He took full advantage, kissing her deeply.

Bea's head had spun, her heart had pounded, her blood raced, she…she…

Oh Maker!

The kiss had not been as…rough as she had thought. Alistair was a warrior, she expected his kisses to be…aggressive. Instead…they had been tender, gentle really.

It was as if he was worshipping her lips, waiting for her to make the next move.

When they had finally come up for air, they had both turned pure scarlet.

The king turned shyly away from her.

"That…that…um… wasn't too forward was it?" he inquired.

Her mind refused to form any sentence; all she could do was shake her head no.

He had smiled and kissed her on the nose.

"Goodnight, Milady," he had cooed before leaving her.

She watched him go, her mind still trying to work after…well…after what could be called sensory overload.

She took a deep breath, slowly her wits returned.

It was in that moment, that she came to realize something.

They…they were actually doing this, this, whatever it was!

It was…terrifying…yet…exciting.

She took another deep breath. She was not the type of girl to let her emotions run away with her.

She tried to reign in her breathing and focus on the now.

She pursed her lips.

She was fond of Alistair, she could not deny that, and apparently he was of her, but that was not enough.

She sighed.

Him, being king, meant that the two of them would never be totally free to do what they desired. Too many people were involved, yet, if she wanted to be in his life she would have to play the game those people now ran.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her Father, Chancellor Eamon, Lady Isolde, they all expected her to play their game, to dance to their tune.

Well…that was fine.

She would play their game, but that did not mean that she was powerless.

She would play the game, just not by all their rules.

She would dance, but she would choose the steps.

She had Alistair, her mind, and will.

Formidable advantages all.

She smiled slightly.

She would play the game…

…her way.

IOI

"Your brother's ship has been sighted of the coast of Highever."

Wilbur Rich smiled at his guest.

"They should reach port sometime this evening."

Bea smiled back.

"That is pleasing news, Mister Secretary," she said, "But Arland is not the only reason I'm here."

Rich smirked.

He tapped lightly on a pad of parchment on his desk. Bea glanced around at the small space that the man had made his office. She would have expected the royal secretary of Ferelden to have grander accommodations…

She pursed her lips.

The small space was a glorified broom closet. Two bookcases filled up much of the room. Scrolls and pieces of parchment hid much of the man's desk.

Rich must have deduced what she was thinking by the look on her face.

The man chuckled.

"Do you know who the second and third most powerful men in Ferelden are now, Lady Glass?"

She shrugged; there were many powerful men and women in the capital.

Rich leaned back in his chair.

"The chancellor is the second," he said sagely, "He has the respect of the people, and the ear of the nobility. If the powerful have any issue with the king, they feel comfortable bringing their complaints to him."

The Secretary sighed.

"There are even those who claim that it is he that truly rules Ferelden. Alistair is too young, too…uninterested in the affairs of state."

Bea's eyes narrowed.

"Few would speak so…openly about His Majesty."

Rich shrugged.

"I'm only repeating rumors," he said, "You know all about rumors don't you Lady Glass?"

She sighed.

She supposed she did.

The Secretary looked down at the page he was reading; he signed it and looked up on her again.

"Now we come to the third most powerful man in Ferelden," he said, "this man holds great power but does not show it. He has no _reason_ too."

Rich smiled slyly.

"This man serves as the king's gatekeeper," he continued, "If a person wishes to gain the king's ear, he or she needs to go through this man. If the royal court realized just how…valuable that position was, it would never have ended up in the hands of a mere commoner."

He leaned forward.

"As a learned woman, you understand that, don't you Lady Glass?"

Bea stood a little taller.

"I understand the value of knowledge, Mister Rich," she said, "Which is why I'm here."

The man nodded, and gestured for her to continue.

She sighed, and spoke her mind.

"The king and I," she began, "We…we…have decided to begin something."

The man gave her a knowing look.

"Not a hard thing to figure out," he replied.

She frowned, but continued on anyway.

"My father and the Chancellor do not trust you," she said.

Again Rich chuckled.

"Your Father thinks the Chancellor is his road to power," he said, "But now that you and the king have begun your…your…"

The man smirked.

"Your _whatever this is_ ," he continued, "the chancellor may just discover how fluid your father's loyalties are."

Bea said nothing, her expression remained blank.

Rich tilted his head.

"Did I just insult you?" he inquired.

"I know my father, Mister Rich," she replied.

"I know what he is capable of."

Again Rich chuckled.

"Wise girl," he said, "Good. I have always preferred to ally with wise people, people who don't let emotion get in the way of cold hard facts."

Bea arched her eyebrow.

Rich shrugged.

"That is why you have come? Is it not?"

Bea paused for a moment, and then sighed.

She nodded slightly.

"You supported me when I first got to this city," she said, "I have not forgotten that. I've also heard that you value the nation and its king over the needs of the royal court."

Rich shrugged.

"Nobles fall in and out of favor all the time," he said, "The King's favorite this month could be out on the street a week later."

The Secretary sighed.

"King Alistair is not as… _capricious_ as his elder brother was," he said, "Cailan had _vices_ he needed to tend to. Anora MacTir understood those vices and used them to her advantage."

Rich smiled.

"Speaking of our beloved former Queen, she has been asking about you I've been told."

Bea's eyes widened at that news.

"Me?"

"Indeed," he replied, "You have made many waves in the last few months. The Lady Bridget Glass, the Lady Brokenshield…"

He smiled.

"Many eyes are on you now Milady and many more will be when they discover that you are now the king's…um… _companion_."

Bea pursed her lips.

 _The King's companion?_

At least it sounded better than whore or concubine.

She still did not know what to make of Queen Anora asking after her, former Queen Anora. In truth, Bea had always respected the woman; she had been both a learned woman and a fine administrator during Cailan's five year reign.

The Scholar shook her head.

It was shame the woman was locked in the tower.

Had she decided to help her nation, she could do much.

As Cailan's widow, had she desired it, she could have assumed the position of Dowager Princess; basically she would be considered a peer of the realm, the king's sister in all but name. She would have been granted lands and been permitted to live her life. Instead, she chose to rot away in the tower for almost two years now.

Bea shook her head.

Wasteful.

She returned her attention to Mister Rich; the Secretary was her target today.

She would deal with Lady Anora's interest if it came to that.

"My father would have me relay on his contacts, his and the Chancellors," she said shaking her head, "Valuable commodities I know…"

Rich smiled.

"But limited ones," she finished.

The Secretary laughed.

"I see," he said, "So you wish to build a power base for yourself, separate from your father and the Chancellor."

Bea nodded.

Rich's smile widened, becoming more predatory.

"I'm assuming then, that your presence here means that you have found at least several others willing to support you?"

Bea nodded.

She had already spoken with Ambassador Petra of the Circle of Magi and Lis Cousland. The circle was always a powerful ally, and she would no doubt need Highever support if she was to have any chance of surviving the sharks that would come for her when her and Alistair's…whatever this was became public.

She also considered sending word to Sister Leliana. The king's old friend was in some little village along the border, a place called Haven…

Leliana would go a long way to winning chantry support, and it was likely the only way around Mother Allison, who had made no bones about her dislike for the Glass family.

If she could get around the woman, so much the better, but there was a problem.

How to get a message out to her without Allison hearing?

That is where the Secretary came in.

Rich chuckled.

"I've misjudged you Milady," he said, "I had heard you had no interest in politics, yet you are defending yourself like a seasoned politician."

Bea shrugged.

"I'm my father's daughter ser," she said, "No Glass would survive in our house without some knowledge of politics, and besides…"

She sighed.

"Some people think that the great game of Orlais is not played in the University, the nobles send their children who are not as skilled as they should be to keep them safe."

Bea shook her head.

"Those nobles are wrong. Many of their children understand the game very well, especially the value of being underestimated."

Bea shook her head.

"I had to learn to be smart, if I had not been my work would likely have been stolen by one of my more cunning, but far less intelligent peers."

She sighed again.

"I hate politics," she said, "But that does not mean that I know nothing about it."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I hope you can understand that."

Again Rich nodded, that oily grin never leaving his face.

He rose from his chair and to her surprise…bowed gallantly.

"I understand completely, Your Ladyship," he said, "Or perhaps…I should say…Your Majesty."

Bea blushed.

"It is a little too soon to be claiming that title," she said, "The king and I are close…but…"

Rich shrugged.

"No harm in being prepared," he said, holding out his hand.

"My sources are yours and the kings of course."

Bea smiled.

"Of course," she said raising her hand.

He took it and chastely kissed her knuckle.

He smiled coldly.

"Milady," he purred, "I hope this is the beginning of a long and _profitable_ alliance."

Bea pursed her lips.

That remained to be seen.

She left the secretary's office, feeling much better about things.

Now she had to go and prepare, if Rich was correct Arland would be returning tonight with Quentin's bride to be.

She sighed.

Now she had to think of how she was going to explain all this to Arland.

She shook her head.

Fighting an Archdemon might be easier.


	37. Problems

**Chapter 37: Problems**

"There are several matters that require your immediate attention, Your Majesty."

"Uh huh," Alistair said with a nod, he was currently standing by the window of royal study, the massive pane of glass looked down on the city, **his** city.

The King sighed.

He would **never** get used to thinking about that…

…Never.

Standing behind him, Wilbur Rich continued to read the latest reports from his agents throughout the kingdom. It was quite impressive that the man had brought so many people together, and Alistair had had ample proof these last few months that the man's information was not only reliable, but necessary…

Still that did not stop him thinking about Bea, and her family even now on their way to the docks to meet with Arland and the girl who was to be his brother's bride.

Alistair frowned.

Funny how easily he could become distracted these days.

"King Bhelen of Orzammar has sent you an invitation to visit his city," Rich continued, 'He offers to hold a grand proving in your honor. You being one of the champions of the Blight and all that…"

"Uh huh," Alistair replied.

"It may seem a bit late," Rich added, "But from what I've heard from my contacts within the dwarven merchant's guild, it has taken Bhelen this long to stabilize his city, and remove the few enemies that remained to his rule."

Rich smiled.

"Shall I write that you shall attend?"

Uh huh," Alistair replied, he held his right hand to his lips, lost in deep thought.

Prepare it had been a mistake stealing that kiss from Bea.

Perhaps he had been too forward.

Rich nodded and signed the letter he would send to Orzammar.

"There have also been problems with the Dalish settlement you established near Ostagar," the Secretary said.

""Uh huh," Alistair nodded.

"So far, only three Dalish clans have accepted your offer. The rest likely don't trust the promise of lands offered up so easily."

"Uh huh," the king said.

Rich pursed his lips.

"There have been some …scuffles between groups of Dalish hunters and salvagers picking through the Blightlands near their territory. We should perhaps since an emissary to the Dalish. Bann Shianni perhaps, and also it might be wise to send a small company of guards to patrol the border, to make sure that our people don't tread so easily into Dalish territory."

"Uh huh," Alistair nodded.

Perhaps I will ask Bea to go riding with me tomorrow, he thought.

It would be nice to have some company along.

"There is one last matter we need to attend to, Your Majesty," Rich said with mild frustration.

"Uh huh," The king said.

"Well, it is like this," the secretary began, "I think I have a dragon trying to crawl out of my left ear. Not the most pleasant sensation I will grant you, but I have grown quite fond of it."

He smirked slightly.

"I think I will name it, Uh huh."

Alistair turned.

"Not a bad name," the king replied, "though you might want to reconsider, the flying dogs of the Anderfels name their first born Uh huh."

The king smiled.

"You would not want to insult them, trust me, they bite."

Rich's eyes widened.

Alistair chuckled.

The secretary bowed his head.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he said, "I thought you were not listening."

The king shrugged.

"Actually I was only half listening," he admitted, "You said something about the dwarves?"

"Yes, a proving in your honor, if you wished to attend?"

"I shall," he said, "And the Dalish?"

"Border skirmishes mostly, scavengers giving the Dalish hunters a hard time."

The king nodded.

"I will send word to Keeper Lanaya," he said, "Make sure that she understands that any addition troops on their borders are not to cause trouble for the elves."

The secretary smiled.

"A wise decision, Your Majesty," he said, "We must still proceed with caution though, the Dalish have long memories, we would not want another exalted march over some misunderstanding. Bann Shianni might serve as a good messenger; let the Dalish see an elven noble."

Alistair nodded.

Shianni's presence would likely go a long way to smoothing over any problem. He had no desire to see conflict break out between the Dalish clans and the humans working to restore the Hinterlands…

That…would be bad.

He returned his attention to the window. He pursed his lips in thought.

"Will?" he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"What do you think of Lady Glass?"

The Secretary arched an eyebrow.

"A bright woman, or so I have been told," he said, "She also has some skill in politics, not a bad thing for someone who makes their life here in Denerim."

Alistair nodded.

"How would the court react if she…if we…um…"

The King shook his head.

There was no easy way to frame his question.

It was difficult.

Rich smiled slightly.

"Most already suspect that something is going on between the two of you," he reminded the king.

"Yeah, but that is not the same as me standing up and declaring that we were…were…"

Rich suppressed a smirk.

"Up to…whatever this is," he said.

Alistair shrugged.

That made as much sense as anything he could come up with.

He turned to his secretary.

"Any suggests on how I might make this more…acceptable to the court?"

Rich shrugged.

"Lady Glass has made enemies, you can't change that," he said, "But she has made friends too. They would support her and you by extension."

Alistair nodded.

"What do I do about the others, the ones that **won't** support her?"

The Secretary gave him a sly look.

"That depends entirely upon them, Your Majesty," he said, "Some might be… _convinced_ to change their way of thinking, but the more diehard opponents of Lady Glass…"

The man's smile turned predatory.

"You…would have to decide how far you were willing to go," he said.

The King considered what the man had said.

A brief shudder ran down his spine.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Mister Secretary."

Rich chuckled.

"It is I that needs to be more careful," he said, "I'm well aware that some of the things I tell you might not be in my best interest, but I assure you, everything I say is for the good of the realm."

Rich shrugged.

"My grandfather died in your grandmother's service, did you know that?"

Alistair shook his head, a surprised look on his face.

Rich sighed.

"My father drank himself to death trying to live up to that man's memory. Me, I'm just trying to survive."

He smiled slightly.

"I see my life ending only two ways," he said, "Either a wealthy man in warm bed dying peacefully in his sleep, or in the courtyard of Fort Drakon. Having my head removed for displeasing you in some way."

The king winced.

"Why would I want to have your head removed?"

Rich smiled slightly.

"Let us hope that we never find out."

The King shook his head.

"That is a little dark, isn't Will?"

Again the secretary shrugged.

"I consider it realistic," the man replied, "But going back to your original question. I would suggest that you do not go overboard trying to win support for Lady Glass, she is a wise woman."

Again Rich smiled.

"She has more friends than you realize. They need to see how she handles matters. If she does it well, you will have nothing to worry about."

Alistair nodded.

"And if she doesn't"

The Secretary gave him a sad look.

"Then it won't matter in the end."

IOI

The Glass family emerged from their carriages. Before them, stood the tall ship that had carried Arland to Cumberland, a ship now returned to its home port.

Bea's eyes drifted over the deck, but saw no sign of her brother.

She pursed her lips in slight worry.

They had received no word that anything was amiss, but still….still…

Worry could not be helped.

Her father stood next to Arl Wulfe. The ruler of the Arling of West Hill was a hard man, with stern bearing and cold piercing eyes. He also walked as if a great weight rested on his shoulders, perhaps it did.

Bea frowned.

West Hill had suffered greatly during the Blight. The darkspawn had swept over it like a flood, so many dead or missing. Many of the ghouls that the Archdemon had thrown against Denerim had once upon a time been citizens of West Hill.

The thought made Bea shiver.

The Arl's sons had perished during the Blight, dying not in battle but from the plagues the darkspawn had unleashed. Now the man had no choice but to seek outside aid for his family.

Bea suspected that her father had offered the Arl her aid in exchange for this marriage contract. Such a deal was unnecessary of course; she would have done anything to help for free, but understood why Father had made such a…arrangement.

The Scholar pursed her lips.

She glanced over at Quentin. Her brother looked fidgety, fidgety and tired. In the short time that he had been here, Quentin had come to love the night life of the capital. The taverns and betting parlors called to him. It was safe to say that it was only a matter of time until his work with the scholars suffered.

Papa no doubt hoped that getting Quentin married would be an excellent way to settle her wild brother down, that starting a family of his own give him something more to focus on than the pleasures of the capital.

Her father glanced at Quentin; a frown came briefly to his face.

"Stop fidgeting," Nathaniel Glass said.

Quentin stood up a little straighter; he looked more like a man on his way to the hangman than a man about to meet his future wife.

Behind Bea and Margaret, Lis Cousland stood at parade rest, once again armed and armored.

The warrior woman drew more than a few stares around the docks, but for the most part people gave her a wide birth.

It was a wise move, considering how ferocious the woman could be.

Finally Bea caught sight of Arland; her brother was dressed in a fine red coat with black breeches. The military style cut of the garments left little doubt that the young man was a warrior. All you had to do was look into Arland's remaining eye to know that was the truth.

He moved to the gangplank of the ship, Bea waved up to him, happy to see him home and safe.

Arland nodded slightly to her, his expression was…not quite right.

It looked…pained, sad somehow.

He held out his hand to someone standing behind him, no doubt looking to guide this person down to the gangplank. A tall icy looking blonde woman stood for them all to see.

It was then that the Glass family got their first real look at the Lady Jayne Wulfe…

Quentin's breath caught in his throat.

Bea suppressed a smile.

To be perfectly frank, she could not blame him.

The Lady Jayne was a very beautiful young woman.

Even with Arland's aid she moved with the pride of a noble lioness. Her skin was pale and without blemish. Her figure was slender yet attractive in all the right places, full breasts, and gentle swaying hips.

The only thing that linked her to Arl Wulfe was her eyes; they had the same stern bearing. Her gray eyes seemed to pierce all that looked upon them.

She allowed Arland to lead her onto the docks.

She turned to Arl Wulfe first. Bea watched curiously. According to Lis, the Lady Jayne had not seen anyone from her family in almost ten years.

She was curious how the woman might react, would she embrace her uncle would she cry?

The two held each other with their cold intimidating eyes.

Finally, the Lady curtseyed.

"Uncle," she purred.

"My dear," Arl Wulfe said with a slight nod.

He turned to Arl Nathaniel and Quentin.

"My lords," he said, "May I present my niece, the Lady Jayne."

Arl Nathaniel stepped forward.

"Welcome my dear," he purred, "Both to Denerim, and our family."

"Your Grace," she said with a slight curtsey.

She pinned Quentin with those cold eyes of hers.

"Husband," she cooed.

Quentin Glass swallowed hard; he wiped his hands idly on the front of his coat.

Bea almost smiled.

It was rare to see her brother left speechless.

"Wife," he said with a slight bow.

Arl Nathaniel smiled.

"Come everyone," he said smiling broadly, "Let us leave this harsh environment for my estate."

He offered a hand to the Lady Jayne.

"You must be tired after your long journey.

"Your Grace," she said accepting his hand, letting the Arl of Denerim lead her back to his carriage.

Bea glanced back, looking for Arland.

She frowned.

Her brother was gone.

Vanished.

She pursed her lips.

Such behavior was not like Arland.

It was not like him at all.

Jayne Wulfe turned from the carriage. Bea caught her scanning the crowd, perhaps looking for Arland as well…

When she did not see him, she leaned back in her seat, waiting for the carriage to carry them away.

Bea's frown deepened.

It was unlike Arland to simply vanish without even saying hello.

She shook her head.

What had happened to her brother during his journey?

Why would he leave so suddenly?

Bea felt her hands curl into determined fists.

She did not know what had happened, but as Andraste was her witness…

She intended to find out.


	38. The Engagement

**Chapter 38: The Engagement**

"I hate her."

Bea gave her sister an arched look. Em's expression remained bland, but the scholar knew her sister well enough to know when she was hiding her emotions…

"Is that really fair sister," she inquired, "You just met her today after all."

Margaret snorted at that.

"Doesn't take that long to know how you feel," she replied.

Bea shook her head.

 _So much for a night of family revelry,_ she thought.

They were currently standing in the corner of the great hall of the Arl's estate in Denerim. Half the capital had come out tonight to honor their family, and of course, to get a better look at the blushing bride.

Bea pursed her lips.

Not that the Lady Jayne was blushing very much.

The woman's expression remained…cold to say the least. She greeted each passing noble and merchant respectfully, but showed little or no emotion. Papa remained at her side, grinning from ear to ear. Arl Wulfe stood beside him, saying little, giving no clue of how he felt personally about these festivities.

As for Quentin, the future groom…well…

He was enjoying the party.

Her brother was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He graciously accepted the various nobles' congratulations, that and continued to help himself to generous quantities of the Arl's best wine.

Quentin gave Jayne a wide silly smile, the bride to be nodded coolly, accepting his regard.

Bea was not sure what to make of that.

Quentin, he did not act like a man about to be married. He acted like a child, happily showing off his shiny new toy to anyone who would meet his gaze.

The whole thing did not seem conducive to a long and happy marriage.

Em's sniping comments did not help much either.

"Look at her," Bea's older sister said with a severe frown.

"And what am I supposed to be looking at?" the scholar inquired.

Again Margaret sniffed.

"All those young men parading before her, you think she was something more than her uncle's bargaining chip."

"Sister!" Bea gasped; she still could not believe her sister had said that.

"That isn't nice at all."

Em shrugged, clearly not caring too much about how nice it was. The elder of the Glass sisters did not like being ignored.

Jayne's presence alone was enough to make sure that she was.

Bea sighed.

Green was not a good look on Margaret, and the green eyed monster that now stared out from behind her eyes was never a welcome guest.

Em shook her head.

"Poor Quentin," she cooed, "Our dear unfortunate brother."

Bea gave her a questioning look.

"And why is it Quentin should be considered…unfortunate?"

"See for yourself," Margaret said, gesturing to the dais.

Bea followed her sister's hand.

The sight before her was…surprising to say the least.

Mother Allison had entered the estate, the priestess flanked by two Templar guards.

She made her way straight for young bride.

Jayne's reaction was almost immediate.

She dropped to her knee before the Revered Mother. Her whole manner changed, no longer was she the proud cool noblewoman…

Lady Wulfe lowered her head, a loyal and willing member of the chantry.

The mother placed a hand on the girl's forehead, murmuring a prayer for her protection and continued health.

The sight surprised Bea. She had never considered the Mother a friend of their family…

The fact that she was here, that she was offering Quentin's bride her blessing.

It sent a message, one that was not in their family's best interest.

The scholar shook her head.

She seriously hoped that father knew what he was doing by making this betrothal.

Still, she held her own council, for Quentin's sake.

Em was not so… _discreet._

"That is all we need," she said shaking her head, "A chantry sister in the family. Wonder why she was sent to the chantry? Was she scared of men or did she like them too much."

The elder Glass sister rolled her eyes.

"Poor Quentin," she said again, "His bride is either going to be a complete and utter prude, or a good for nothing whore."

 **"EM!"**

"What?" Margaret said innocently.

Bea blushed and glanced around.

 _Maker help them…_

 _She prayed that no one had heard that!_

If that **little** statement got back to Arl Wulfe…

The lord of West Hill could make things…difficult for the Glass family.

Em leaned in closer.

"Did dear little Lis say why the Lady Jayne's parents sent her into the chantry?"

Bea shook her head no.

From what she had gathered from Elissa, Jayne Wulfe had willingly chosen to enter the priesthood. She had been only a few short months from taking her final vows when Arl Wulfe had sent word that she was to marry Quentin.

"Pity," Em said.

Bea shrugged, but at the same time she found herself wondering about the Lady Wulfe's motivations as well…

What was going on in the head of the tall icy blonde noble woman?

She could not even begin to guess.

She seemed so cold, cold and numb.

She was not sure what to make of that?

So far, she was not sure what to make of her future sister in law. Jayne was pretty to be sure, tall and elegant, but at the same time…she seemed so cold, frigid really.

The scholar frowned.

 _What kind of wife would the Lady Jayne be for her brother?_

She truly could not say.

Of course, it might have all been a defense mechanism. After all, how would she have felt had father ordered her to leave the University? If he had ordered her to leave her life, and everything she had believed in behind?

Bea shook her head.

 _Perhaps she would have chosen to behave cold and aloof too._

 _Perhaps that would have been better than revealing how scared and angry she was._

Once again she hoped that Quentin would not be hurt in the process.

Her brother did not deserve such a fate.

He deserved at least a chance to find some happiness with his new bride.

Who knew, they might even grow to love each other eventually.

Em gave her a sly look.

"If there is a dance later," she purred, "You want to trip her, send her sprawling across the chamber?"

Bea gave her elder sister a cold look.

"This is not Val Royeaux sister," she reminded her.

"I know."

"That kind of thing will not have the same effect here it would have in the empire."

Margaret shrugged, likely still weighing the possibility of her plan. It would be a petty vengeance for sure, and for an imagined slight at that.

Bea shook her head.

They really should have been doing everything they could to make their new sister feel comfortable. She was going to be family after all.

 _Did family not look after each other?_

Two young noblemen passed by them, handsome in their way, but clearly deep in the cups, speaking louder than they should, too loud.

They did not give the Glass sisters a second glance.

"Lord Glass is a lucky man," the first one said, "I mean, Maker's breath, just look at those legs."

The man leered.

"Can you imagine having **those** wrapped around you?"

His friend chuckled.

"Who knew that old Wulfe had such a beauty in his line," the other man said, "The man made a mistake that was for sure, had that girl been at the gathering of the ladies, she likely would have been our queen by now."

"Tell me about it," the first man snickered.

He glanced up at Lady Jayne.

"That right there is a woman fit for a king."

The scholar's eyes widened.

 _What?_

She glanced up at Lady Jayne, her old insecurities surged to the forefront.

Bea's eyes narrowed.

 _Fit for a king was she?_

Her fingers curled into angry fists.

Perhaps Em had a point.

Perhaps they **should** hate their future sister in law.

Em distracted her from any further jealous musings.

Her sister frowned as she glanced around the room.

"Where is Lis," she asked, "She might want to help take our dear sister down a peg or two?"

"She had things to do," Bea replied.

It was not even a lie.

After Arland's sudden disappearance, Bea had sent her large friend to search for him. It was unlike Arland to just disappear like that, especially not without at least saying hello to his siblings.

Bea worried her lip with her teeth.

She still could not figure out what had happened. Perhaps when Lis found their brother they would learn more. In the meantime…

…she sighed heavily.

The Glass sisters had to support the newest addition to their family, or at the least, pretend to support her.

It was what was expected of them after all. They…

 **"HIS MAJESTY! THE KING!"**

All heads turned at the Herald's announcement. Royal guards stood at the entrance to the chamber.

Alistair entered a few moments later.

As one the nobles fell to their knees, all paying homage to their lord and sovereign.

Even the bride and groom, the guests of honor at tonight's festivities bent the knee.

All eyes fell to the floor, in respect for their king.

Bea heard his footsteps approaching.

She fought the urge to smile.

Once she would have been cursing Alistair for such a faux pas, now…she was grateful.

She saw his boots standing before her.

"Lady Bea?" he said warmly.

"Your Majesty," she looked up shyly.

Alistair smiled and offered her his hand.

Smiling, she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

Around them not a few nobles made comments about the king's rather brazen act, an act made even more brazen when he linked his arm with Bea's and led her across the floor.

The Scholar noticed Mother Allison glaring at her.

She tried not to smirk.

 _Let the old hen grumble,_ she thought.

 _I tried to fight this…_

 _Now, I no longer care._

The King led her up to the happy couple; Quentin glanced at his sister, who shrugged in response.

"Lady Wulfe," Alistair said regally, or as regal as he could.

"Your Majesty," the future bride cooed, still refusing to meet his eyes.

He took chin in her hand, making her finally look up.

He gave her a gentle smile.

"A thousand blessings on your impending nuptials," he said, "May you both find the happiness you deserve."

Both Quentin and Lady Jayne thanked him for his kind words.

The king smiled and addressed the full assembly.

"May this union be the first of many," he said, "May the growing love between these two people contribute to our still healing land."

More than a few nobles applauded. Even Em jumped on the band wagon.

"Long Live the King!" someone shouted.

"LONG LIVE THE KING!" the crowd cried out in unison.

Alistair smiled and started for the door, Bea in tow.

She chose to remain silent until they were out of ear or eyeshot of the rest of the party.

The scholar gave him a knowing look.

"Let me guess," She murmured, "The chancellor **told** you to come here and say those things?"

The king chuckled.

"Couldn't I have come up with that myself?"

She shrugged.

"Probably," she said with a hint of teasing in her voice.

Alistair smirked.

"Well, I didn't," he blushed, "Mister Rich suggested it might be a good idea to pay a visit here tonight."

Bea nodded.

"Did he tell you to walk arm in arm with me?" she asked.

Alistair blushed.

"No, that…um...that was all my idea."

He looked down at the floor.

"It wasn't a mistake was it?"

Bea blushed, suddenly feeling a little too warm.

She smiled coyly.

"It definitely sent a message," she said.

"But was it the right one?" he asked.

She smiled and kissed his nose.

"We will see," she cooed.

Alistair smiled brightened.

"Will you be coming back to the palace tonight?"

She felt a nervous flutter in her belly.

She…she…

Oh my.

"I...uh... should probably stay here," she said, "To support my family, you know."

The king nodded.

He had been around enough nobles to know what was expected of them.

He leaned in and kissed her on the nose.

"Try to have fun tonight," he said.

She nodded, though part of her wanted more than just a peck on the nose.

She sighed.

She would just have to be patient, for both of them.

 _It would **not** be easy._

She waited a few minutes after the king left before returning to party.

No doubt many would have questions about what had passed between the two of them.

Bea was not at liberty to say.

Let them all speculate.

She cared not.

IOI

The party went on long after midnight. Slowly the nobles of Denerim returned to their homes. Arl Wulfe went to his rooms in the guest's quarters.

Quentin retired to his room, assisted by two of Father's guards.

Bea said nothing as they carried her brother away.

Jayne remained behind, not sure what to do next.

Bea felt sorry for the girl. If Jayne was angry about being left behind by her betrothed she said nothing.

She retained the icy calm she had shown all evening.

At last she slipped away, returning to her room in the estate.

Bea stayed up for most of the eve. Em had disappeared with some of her friends shortly before midnight. That left the hostess' duties to her younger sister.

Bea handled them to the best of her abilities.

An hour after the last guest had left; she let out a tired sigh.

She glanced around at the chaos around her.

She sighed.

She did not envy her father's servants cleaning up this mess.

She had been just about to retire to her own quarters when Lis finally returned. The warrior woman had come in through the servant's entrance so not to wake the whole household.

Bea's eyes had widened at the sight of her.

Lis looked like she had been in a scuffle. Her lip was split, and her dark hair was dirty and matted with sweat.

Still the warrior woman grinned.

"You should see the other guy," she said.

Bea had chuckled and shook her head.

She could just imagine.

She glanced down at the ground, at the warrior woman's feet lay Arland Glass. He had not even woken when Lis had sat him down, his dress uniform was a mess, blood leaked from his nose.

Bea wrinkled her nose.

Her brother stank of cheap liquor.

Which surprised her truth be told.

She had never known her brother to get drunk, not ever.

Seeing him like this.

It was a bit of a shock.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Not sure," Lis said, "Your brother picked a fight in one of the roughest bars in Denerim."

The warrior woman shook her head.

"He was too drunk to tell me why," she continued, "Maybe you can get something out of him tomorrow."

Bea nodded.

It was all she could do, given the circumstances.

She sighed heavily.

Poor Arland.

She looked at Lis.

"We should get him to his room," she said.

Lis nodded, reached down and slung her brother over her shoulder.

Bea blinked at the mere sight of that.

"um...ah...Do you need... help?" she asked.

""No, I've got him," the warrior said with a slight grunt, "Thanks though."

Bea nodded, and led the way.

Lis trailed after her, carrying Arland like a sack of potatoes.

The scholar pursed her lips.

Perhaps it would be better not to mention **this** to Arland in the morning.

The two women went up the servants steps, not wishing to disturb their sleeping guests or family members.

Bea glanced around hoping not to bump into anyone.

She had no desire to explain all this to father, not when…

 **"Oh Maker!"**

The two women froze.

Jayne Wulfe was standing in the middle of the hallway.

The woman was dressed in a long flossy white nightgown, she took one look at Arland and her whole face changed.

"Arland," she said coming around behind them, concern radiating from her gray eyes.

"Oh Arland."

She looked up at Bea.

"Is he all right?"

The transformation in her future sister in law shocked the scholar. Jayne had been so cold all evening, now for the first time it appeared that she **did** have emotions.

The realization surprised Bea.

Lis gave her a cold look.

"He will be fine Jayne," she said flatly, "Return to your room, we have this."

For a moment it looked like the blonde was going to refuse, or snap off some angry retort at the warrior woman.

Then as quickly as the anger appeared it faded.

Once again Jayne Wulfe's face was cool bland mask.

"As you wish," she said, "It is none of my affair."

"Thank you," Lis said pushing past her; Arland looked up weakly as they passed by.

"Jayne?" he murmured drunkenly.

Arl Wulfe's niece did not respond.

Lis carried Arland into one the guest room. Bea did what she could to help her, they lay Arland on his side near the edge of the bed. Lis slid the chamber pot out and placed it near her brother's head.

She gave Bea a knowing look.

"He will likely need it in morning," she said, "Hangovers are a bitch."

Bea nodded, but said nothing else. She moved out into the hallway. She had not heard Jayne retire to her room.

Her soon to be sister stood in the hall, watching them. She said nothing as Bea and Lis slipped back into the hall. Leaving Arland to sleep off his revels.

As for the lady herself, once she was sure that Arland was safe she made her way down the hall to Quentin's room. She said nothing to either Bea or Lis as she quietly opened the door.

She glanced one last time at Arland's room before slipping inside, closing the door behind her.

Bea was not sure what to say.

 _What was to say,_ her conscience chided.

 _Jayne is going to become Quentin's wife in two days' time. If she desires to spend the night with him…?_

 _…Who was she to stand in the way of that?_

They were both consenting adults, of course given the state that Quentin was in…she…she…

She frowned.

Once again Bea found herself worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

There was too much going on that she could not quite understand.

Arland's odd behavior, now Lady Jayne's…

Nothing seemed to add up.

She tried to push it out of her mind.

She would talk to Arland tomorrow.

Hopefully, by then, she would be able to get to the bottom of all this.

Only Arland likely knew what was **really** going on.

Bea sighed.

It was time for him to talk.


	39. Opportunity

**Chapter 39: Opportunity**

"I saw her sneaking out of Quentin's room this morning."

Bea said nothing, preferring instead to focus her attention on buttering a slice of toast. They were the only members of the Glass family that had chosen to stay for breakfast this morning. Father had struck out early for the palace and Arland…

Arland had left with barely even stopping to say goodbye.

The scholar tried to ignore her sister; it was far too early in her eyes to savoring what one might consider the faults of others.

Em grinned liked some eager predator, back in Orlais she had always loved knowing about scandals before they broke.

Bea rolled her eyes.

Considering the fact that she **had** seen Jayne in the hall last night, what she was hearing from her sister was not surprising news.

The scholar pursed her lips.

Em had always been fond of gossip, a little too fond if you asked her, she enjoyed whispering about people in dark corners. If they had remained in Orlais she likely would have excelled at the great game, but as she had told her sister last night. This was not Val Royeaux, if Jayne wished to sleep with her future husband before their wedding night why not; she did not see any real scandal there or the promise of trouble.

 _What had happened to Arland last night was_ _ **more**_ _important in her eyes._

She gave her sister a pragmatic look.

"They **are** going to be married in two days," she reminded Margaret, "Perhaps Lady Jayne simply wished to get to know Quentin. Perhaps she wished to speak with our brother alone."

Her sister's smile widened, how that was even possible was beyond her.

"I seriously doubt they were just _talking,_ and you can certainly bet they were not playing wallop in there."

Em's eyes sparkled with mischievous intent.

"I'm sure they got to… **know** each other quite well, our new sister looked a little disheveled this morning" she smirked, "Most women don't have to take off their nightgowns to talk to someone."

Again Bea rolled her eyes.

 _What Quentin and Jayne had done or not done was none of their concern._

Part of her rejected Em's…crude interpretation of events. She had not fallen asleep right away last night, and had ended up checking in on Arland at least two times in the night.

If things had proceeded as her sister thought, she likely would have heard something, some sounds coming from Quentin's room. Then there was the rather…inebriated state her brother had been in when he had retired for the evening.

She pursed her lips.

Quentin had not exactly been in the best of states to…to…service his young bride, but once again this was all speculation, and speculation she did truly care to make.

Their room…their business, she thought.

She was more worried about Arland, whatever had happened to him on the journey to Cumberland and back had rattled their normally stable brother.

That worried her more than a thousand Jayne and Quentins.

She had tried to speak with him this morning but was rebuffed. Arland could be very stubborn when he wanted to be. The same resolve that made him a good soldier meant that he would not reveal what had been bothering him yesterday.

She did not know how he had found the strength to leave the estate, his hangover must have been extreme, but he managed…

" _It isn't your affair, Bea",_ he had growled.

" _Leave it alone."_

Of course, after that, how could she? Arland was more than just a big brother to her. Father had always been so busy when she had been growing up, as the eldest Arland had often been forced to play both the roles of brother and father to his younger siblings.

She frowned.

 _Arland had always been there for her._

 _How could she abandon him now?_

It was at that moment that Jayne finally made her way down to breakfast. Bea did her best to remain respectful of their newest family member.

Margaret smirked at her but said nothing. If Em's reaction to her bothered the icy blonde she revealed nothing. She remained as cool and poised as she had the night before.

"Good morning, sisters," she said in the same haughty manner she had used all last night.

Both Bea and Em murmured in response. The servants brought the girl a cup of tea as she helped herself to some porridge from a large pot in the center of the table.

The girl pinned Bea with that icy gaze of her, it was all the scholar could do to keep from quailing under it.

"It appears that the king has taken great interest in you," she said in that cool soft voice of hers.

Jayne smiled slightly.

"You must be very pleased."

Bea blushed slightly. It appeared that her future sister had no problem speaking her mind.

Such a trait might be nice after listening to Quentin and Margaret's flattering and deceptive comments all day.

"We are still…um…exploring our feelings," she informed the blonde, "He is a kind man, a good man."

She smiled slightly.

"Whatever happens, will happen."

"Indeed," Lady Jayne said, finally breaking her fast.

Bea gave the girl a curious look.

Normally, she was able to figure out the motivations of a fellow noble quite quickly, it had been a useful skill at the University, and one that had saved her from trouble more than once.

Jayne Wulfe…well…she remained a bit of an enigma to the scholar. Speaking little, but seeing much, those stern eyes were always watching, evaluating.

A thought struck Bea, and it was not a pleasant one.

She frowned.

She found herself remembering the girl's reaction to Mother Allison last night. Jayne had supposedly left the chantry behind to fulfill her noble duties, but what if the Mother decided to use the girl to collect…dirt on their family.

Quentin was not without his skeletons, she knew that for a fact. Em had her moments as well…

Bea's eyes narrowed.

Was that what was bothering Arland? Had the girl gotten some information on him and turned it over to Mother Allison, or had she merely threatened to turn it over?

Had Arland said something harmful to the family? Was the girl preparing to use it to hurt them, to try and hurt her chances with Alistair?

If that was the case, she would regret such actions. Bea might not enjoy the game, but that did not mean that she did not know how to play when push came to shove.

If the Lady Wulfe pushed her, she was not afraid to push back! She…she could…

The scholar shook her head.

Maker's breath, she thought.

What am I doing?

She had jumped to conclusions, almost let paranoia run away with her, and all because she thought to protect what she had…what she might have with Alistair.

She sighed.

This was exactly why she had not wanted to get involved with Alistair in the first place! Of course, it was too late to escape now.

She sighed again.

Her heart was now bound to his, she was caught in a web that her father and the chancellor had laid, and the sad fact she would not try to escape, even if she could.

She had grown…fond of His Majesty. She would not hurt him, even if it was for his own good.

She resolved not to jump to conclusions, but at the same time she would be watchful, if Mother Allison tried to use Jayne against her and the family…

…She would deal with it the best she could.

She would speak to Wilbur Rich, the man was like an octopus, he had tentacles everywhere. If anyone could find out if the Mother **was** trying to play their family through the Wulfes, it would be him.

She did not trust the man, not completely, but he generally seemed to care about the king and his welfare, welfare that he felt now included her.

She found herself thinking of something he had said to her after their first meeting; a piece of advice or perhaps it had been a warning.

The man had given her that oily smile of his.

"If your…relationship with the king continues, Milady, it will lead to only one place, you must be prepared for that," he had said, "You must be prepared to use your two most powerful weapons. Anora only managed to use one, and that landed her in the tower. She was smart, like you are, but that is not enough. Your mind will serve you well, but it is not enough, a true queen's power also lies in her belly."

Bea had winced at that.

"I mean no offense, nor do I wish to be crass" Rich said bowing in submission, "I merely seek to enlighten you one of the trials you will have to face. Anora's failure to give the realm an heir doomed her long before the Blight began. "

His words stuck with her.

Cailan and Anora had failed to continue the royal line. Whoever the king chose to stand at his side would have much pressure on them to do better."

If she could not…

She…she tried not to think about it.

The three women ate mostly in silence after that. Quentin joined them an hour or so later. He smiled at his bride, and kissed her on the forehead. She gave him a slight smile as he sat down beside her.

It was then that an elven page arrived with a message from father, a message for Bea.

She was to return to the palace.

The Chancellor wished to have words with her.

Bea frowned.

What could the man possibly want now? Did he wish her to spend more time with Isolde? Did he have more instructions on which nobles she should associate with, and which ones she shouldn't?"

The Scholar shook her head.

She had always preferred to choose her own friends and associates.

You have no choice in this; a cold little voice in the back of her reminded her.

She shivered slightly.

You don't have the power to say no to the Chancellor, at least, not yet. You have to dance to the tune he calls, at least for now.

One day, you will have enough support in the royal court that you will be able to choose your own circle. The Chancellor sees you only as a means to an end.

You can't afford to make an enemy of him, not yet anyway.

She nodded, accepting that counsel.

If she and Alistair did have a future, she would need to be her father's daughter. She would need to use the skills he had taught her. She would need to keep her head down, and play the role.

One day, she would be able to be herself, and on that day, it would be too late for those who hated her or sought to control her to do anything about it.

The thought made her shiver.

All her life she had tried to distance herself from her father's business, now…because she wished to be with a man she cared for, she would have to do exactly what he would have expected her to do.

It was ironic.

She had not wanted this, but now it was here.

She sighed.

She would do what she had to do.

Whatever the consequences were, she would pay them.

HE was worth it.

She smiled slightly.

Alistair was worth it.

IOI

Once again Mother Allison found herself hearing the confession of the Orlesian Ambassador, and once again, she found herself smiling.

The man had come up with a new plan.

And she had to admit, she was pleased.

Perhaps, it had been too…extreme, their first attempt. Assassination was such an ugly business. It stained the soul. What the Ambassador had come up with now was much more…subtle, yet no less effective.

It would serve their cause well.

"How soon can we expect the young man to arrive?"

"Before the week is out, I think," the Ambassador responded, "His father was never fond of the Glass girl, and is willing to support us, in exchange for some favors from some of our other…associates."

The Priest pursed her lips.

"You still have not told me who else is interested in this matter. Why are they willing to see this done? Why do they care about the welfare of Ferelden?"

The Ambassador chuckled.

"The game had many twists and turns Your Reverence. My allies wish to remain anonymous for the time being, but one day you will get to meet with them."

The man smiled.

"And you will be rewarded for your forward thinking."

The Mother sniffed at the thought of that.

"I'm not doing this for any earthly rewards," she said, "This is for the soul of the country I love."

"Of course, Your Reverence, of course," the Ambassador purred.

"Your faith **will** be rewarded."


	40. Doubts

**A/N: I'm baaaack! Went to see family for the holiday, but now I have returned! Looking forward to getting back on track, happy belated Easter everyone!**

 **Chapter 40: Doubts**

"Try to look more pleased sister."

Margaret gave her sibling a warm smile. The elder Glass sister was more than pleased to be accompanying her on this journey, despite what had happened last time.

Bea managed a weak smile, perhaps more of a grimace than a smile…

Whatever it was, Em picked right up on her discomfort

"Relax Bea," she cooed, "You will be back in our beloved King's arms before too long."

The scholar scowled at her sister, which only seemed to amuse her elder sibling more.

Bea rolled her eyes.

 _Andraste give me strength._

They were currently on their way south to the Hinterlands under heavy guard. A full company of Ferelden's finest soldiers accompanied them, and all under the dutiful command of Lis Cousland, and if that was not protection enough, Ambassador Petra had managed to find four mages who had served during the siege of Denerim, these Enchanters had been on their way south anyway, so they had agreed to accompany the scholar and her defenders.

That had not stopped two Templars from joining the party, of course. They took their oaths seriously and refused to let the mages get out of their sight, which was not a bad thing for their party.

Two more skilled blades against any possible threat…?

…Yes, please.

Yes, it was safe to say that they were protected by forces way beyond what they needed to keep them safe, and yet…Bea was still not happy. She was…distracted.

She had too much on her mind.

She slouched in her seat as the carriage bounced its way down the long dirt road. The scholar had been wrestling with exactly what she was going to do since they had first begun this journey…

Sadly, she was no closer to an answer than she had been days ago.

Officially she was heading out of the city to scout out locations for her land purification project. The southern nobles had finally gotten behind the idea of trying to breathe life back into their holdings. What with the king's support and the chantry finally deciding to back off. Either they had decided to give her plan a chance, or hoped that given enough rope she might hang herself with it.

Either way, it made her work the talk of not just the royal court, but much of Ferelden as well, and possibly abroad.

The very thought was enough to make Bea shudder.

Many eyes were on her now, all hoping that her specially bred plants could perform according to what she had promised, and more than a few she suspected were waiting for her to fail.

Of course, her work was not the only thing that was bothering her.

If work was all that was going on, she would have only have been nervous, excited as well. What scholar did not wish to test her theories in the field? Even the Orlesian Ambassador had gotten curious, the man was apparently sending a representative to observe the results, if this project bore fruit it might be the first step in reclaim the lands around the western approach. For centuries those lands had lain barren, if what she was doing here worked…

It could be a new beginning, for everyone, her work would be lauded as genius.

The scholar sighed.

Unfortunately, her work was not the only thing on her mind.

Unofficially, this trip had been the idea of Chancellor Eamon and her Father. The two had decided to move their plan into the next phase. They felt having her leave the capital now would…accelerate the king's desire for her.

She shook her head.

She had heard a saying once: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Eamon and Papa were ready to test that theory. The Chancellor had observed how the king had reacted the last time she had left the capital unexpectedly, right before the Satinalia dance…

This whole expedition had been set up rather quickly, the urgency had denied her even the chance to say goodbye. Which she suspected was the whole point.

She and Em had struck out no less than an hour after Quentin and Jayne Wulfe's wedding. It had been a nice ceremony truth be told, small, but respectful. The bride and groom had seemed more nervous than affectionate, but that was to be expected from an arranged marriage.

Love, some would say, would come later.

No sooner was that all said and done, that a letter arrived from the south, the perfect spot had been found to carry out her experiment, with several others in reserve if she chose not to use it. Her gear had been packed up and now they were on the road.

The Chancellor had promised to send her regards to the king.

They, the Chancellor and her father, had expected her to accept this without question.

Bea had had other plans.

She had come to know Alistair well since they had begun their…whatever this was. She knew his insecurities, and had no desire to see him hurt. His Majesty…Alistair…he had gotten used to the idea of being cast off or rejected, the two of them had discussed this one night over there first meal. First he had been sent to the Chantry, then the country had turned against the wardens during the Blight, then…his own sister had spitefully rejected him after he had come to see her before the siege of Denerim…

So many disappointments, it had…only increased the king's insecurities.

She had no desire to contribute to more.

So, unbeknownst to her father, she had composed a letter to His Majesty, a letter that Mister Rich had promised to deliver. She had advised the Secretary to proceed with the utmost discretion.

In their own way, the Chancellor and her father were trying to do what was best for Alistair. She needed to keep the king happy without risking angering him against either the Chancellor or her father.

It was a difficult tightrope to walk, but so far, she had done it well, with a little help from interested parties of course.

Her list of allies was still small, undetectable to the Chancellor, which was good. For the time being he still believed her good for His Majesty.

If that changed, it could be disastrous for their family. House Glass was not strong enough to openly oppose House Guerein.

So she stayed silent, and played the good respectful noble woman.

It was what was best for her family.

Of course, now that she had time to think, she realized that she had started something…and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

It was a dangerous game they were playing, for many reasons.

The problem was that her heart and mind were at war. As a scholar and a noble, she knew how to play the game, how to maximize her chances for success. As a woman, who cared for a man, she hated herself for what she was coming to see as…manipulation.

Take this whole trip for example, the increased security, and the interest of the nobles in both the south and the north. What should have been a simple scientific experiment had turned into a grand event. In Orlais, never would a scholar from the university warrant such security. The defenses now arrayed around her were reserved for members of the Royal Family…

Her frown deepened.

…Or someone about to _join_ the royal family.

It seemed that everyone knew what direction she would be force to walk…

…and she hated it.

Mister Rich had been right. If she and the King continued their…their…alliance, many things would be expected of her. She had decided long ago that she would not accept the role of mistress to a powerful man, but if she was not the king's mistress and the two of them became… _closer_. Only one option remained…

If she and Alistair were to continue, then she, Bridget Glass, would eventually have to accept the title of Queen, a frightening thing to be sure, after all.

She swallowed hard.

She was not entirely certain that she even wanted to be queen.

The title of queen was not the most coveted in Ferelden, in fact given past events; some people had begun to wonder if it was cursed. Queen Moira had been murdered by her own nobles. Queen Rowan had died of the wasting disease. Queen Anora had been left a widow and childless…

Such a track record did little to encourage a woman's ambitions. The king needed a queen, everyone had been whispering that for months, but that did not mean that they had forgotten the history that followed the title.

Yet, if the royal line were to continue, a Queen was needed.

That is where she came in, or so her father and the Chancellor thought.

What came next would be most…interesting.

She cared deeply about Alistair, but recognized the need to be careful. So many were no doubt now waiting for her to do something to jeopardize her position in the King's eyes. Her enemies were watching for any sign of weakness. They were likely looking for anything they could take before the king to prove that she was being untrue. No such evidence existed of course, but that did not mean that someone might try to come up with some.

The thought almost made her whimper.

The love of a king was not like it was with a normal man. If a relationship ended with a normal man, it simply ended. If the relationship with a king ended…

The results could be devastating.

She remembered reading a story when she was a girl. A Lady from a wealthy family had maneuvered herself into the position of Queen of a small kingdom. The king had loved her a great deal, but he suffered from a roving eye, it was said that he had many mistresses during their short marriage. The young queen had grown jealous, which angered her husband for interfering in his affairs…

After two failed pregnancies, the king had grown tired of her interference and failure to give him an heir. The king's allies had manufactured charges against the Queen and her family; once their fortunes had been destroyed the king turned his attention to his wife.

He convinced the chantry that she had been unfaithful to him. That she betrayed him with members of the royal court, all lies of course, but by then the chantry priests knew what direction the wind was blowing.

They granted the king a divorce, and the Queen was arrested.

After a very short trial, the Queen was taken before the executioner. Even after everything, she still professed her love for her husband.

Bea rubbed her neck.

The girl lost her head to the executioner's blade, words of love still on her lips. The daughter of one her family's enemies moved into the king's bed less than a week later.

The story had always chilled Bea's blood.

It was meant as a warning, those below their station should not reach so high, but now, through father's mechanization that is exactly what happened.

She had laid her head on the chopping block, now she had to find a way to keep it from getting chopped off.

Alistair did not strike her as a man with a wandering eye, or a vengeful streak, but there were more than one way to anger a king. If her family's enemies got anything on her…anything at all…?

She…she did not want to think about it.

So she was torn, what she knew in her head, and what she felt in her heart.

Was love worth the risk?

She thought the answer was yes, but still…

There was so much to lose, if she…

She shook her head.

She couldn't afford to do anything that might jeopardize her family. She would have to careful. She would have to be…

There was a knock on the carriage door, she jumped slightly.

Smirking Em pulled back the curtain, revealing the face of Lis Cousland.

The warrior did not seem happy.

"The Orlesian Ambassador's representative has arrived, Milady," she said, would you like to speak with him?"

Bea straightened her back, it would not do to be seen slouching like an unruly child. She needed to show strength before the Orlesians' representative.

She was not just speaking for herself now; her position with the king made it more than that.

She needed to be strong for the nation.

Lis let her horse fall back, while three white Orlesian stallions came up alongside the carriage.

The first two carried two armed and armored Orlesian soldiers, protectors for the representative no doubt. The third, the third was…

Bea stifled a gasp.

Em did a double take at the sight of the man's face; her eyes narrowed quickly, shock quickly giving way to anger.

Bea did not blame her.

She did not blame her one bit.

She swallowed hard.

He was as handsome as she remembered same soulful brown eyes, same square jaw, and curly brown hair.

His eyes radiated the same shy light she remembered from so long ago, but she no longer felt affection when she looked into them.

She shivered.

She imagined a cold stone block, imagined being forced to kneel down, her chin resting just over its edge.

She imagined the sword, a fine blade of silverite.

A blade fit to end the life of a queen.

The thought made the bile rise in her throat.

Oh Maker, she thought.

Sweet Andraste!

No!

"Hallo, Brigitte," the Orlesian said warmly, "Eet…eet is good to see you again."

She bowed her head, her mind swirling with a mix of fear, anger, and doubt.

"He…hello, Rene," she said trying to keep her voice calm.

"It has been a long time."


	41. What came Before

**Chapter 41: What Came Before**

It was rare for Alistair to look forward to his kingly duties; most he carried out with only his obligation to his people in mind.

The king smiled.

This visit to Orzammar, promised to be quite different.

Orzammar, once the capital of the Dwarven Empire, remained one of the few places in Thedas where the title of warden was held with nothing but respect. For generations the order had stood with the dwarfs against the encroaching darkness. The order often journeyed to its vast halls, not only to honor the Calling, but to conduct raids that aided their interests on the surface.

The last time Alistair had walked its streets, he had been heralded a hero, a kingmaker. Kallian's work on behalf of the Assembly had etched their names in the dwarven memories forever.

In that place, he was not just the bastard prince, not just the warden who had gotten lucky, in Orzammar he was seen as a savior…

That is how he wished for Bea to see him as well.

He could not deny it, he had been…worried when she had left so suddenly after Quentin Glass' wedding. He had hoped that they might get a chance to spend some time together, time away from the duties here in the palace.

Part of him had wondered if he had pushed too hard, too fast. He feared that she had left because he had come on too strong.

When Mister Rich had presented him with Bea's letter, he realized that that was simply not so.

As he read the first line, he had felt a surge of warmth run through him, and a silly grin appeared before he could stop it…

 _My dearest Alistair…_

 _She had_ not _abandoned him._

 _He had not done anything wrong._

 _She_ would _return._

He knew such fears were foolish, Bea had a life here now, but still, some part of him, that scared little boy sent to the chantry so long ago still lived inside him, a little boy that was still waiting to be abandoned, again. Having reassurance that someone he cared about was coming back…

It made all the difference.

She had apologized for her leaving, and promised to return as soon as she could. She would stand at his side when he entered Orzammar. In fact she looked forward to the journey…

Few outsiders were permitted to step through the dwarven city's gates, the chance to see it for herself, was a dream come true.

A dream, that he could make a reality.

Thinking about that warmed his heart.

There were so many things he wished her to see in Orzammar. Despite the chaos that had gripped the city during his first visit, it was there, for the first time that he had seen Kallian Tabris' true quality, she had revealed what she was capable of by aiding the casteless, by giving them a king who would at least look at them and see people, not the mistakes of a previous generation. She…

He frowned.

 _Kallian._

It was strange. Thinking about her no longer brought the mind numbing pain it had months ago. He still felt sorrow, and a small pain deep within his heart, but it no longer immobilized him. No longer did he feel like he could not go on without her.

The king pursed his lips.

Both Leliana and Wynne had told him that he would heal in time. That one day he would be able to think about Kallian without it hurting so badly. He loved her, he would miss her, but part of him would be able to feel again.

The pain he felt over his fellow warden's loss would never completely go away, he suspected. In fact, he did not want it too. Kallian was, had been an important part of his life, of all their lives…

One day, he would have to tell Bea about Kallian, tell her everything about her. He wanted no secrets between them. He wanted to share everything he was with her.

He smiled again.

He would start in Orzammar. It would be the best place for them to begin.

He would introduce her to the Deshyrs and the king. Let them see what a fine woman he had on his arm. If anyone felt jealous, so be it.

He would show the king of Orzammar what a true jewel was.

King Bhelen was not a nice guy, he knew that from the very beginning, Kallian had supported him, but only for the casteless' sake. He might be a ruthless bastard, but at least he was trying to build a better city. He was not afraid to ask the casteless for help, and if what Alistair's contacts in Orzammar were saying were true, Bhelen's trust was paying off.

For the first time in centuries, the dwarves had managed to push the darkspawn back. Reclaiming several sections of the deep roads lost to the monsters long ago. There was even a rumor that Bhelen hoped to recapture several nearby thaigs, thus taking the first step to reclaiming what the dwarves had lost.

 _Was it possible_ , Alistair was not sure, but even a small victory over the darkspawn would mean so much for morale.

It would be the first beacon of hope the dwarves had seen in centuries. If Bhelen could bring that to pass, then he had earned his crown.

Regardless of the steps he had taken to seize it.

His hand went to letter; he kept it close to his heart, having it there made it feel more real somehow.

It would also be good to get out of the palace for a while, he thought. He had barely left it since Kallian's funeral in Redcliffe. It would also be a chance to get Bea away from her work for a while, as important as it was, and it was, it would be nice to have her all to himself, to help her relax.

It would be nice to _relax_ the beautiful scholar.

 _In fact,_ he thought with a smile _, I can think of several…techniques we might try._

A shiver ran down his spine, and he blushed slightly, blushed and chuckled.

Maker, that thought sounded more like one that Zevran would have…

The king shook his head.

He could not deny a growing…curiosity when it came to Bea. It had taken him a while to relax and become confident enough to find out what Kallian…enjoyed. He liked to think his experience with his fellow warden would prepare him for a new…physical relationship.

The Maker had answered his prayers; he had wanted a companion he could be himself with. A woman that understood the demands of the crown, but at the same time accepted his faults and either forgave them, or was amused by them.

He was eager to explore her own needs, find out what she wanted, and what she thought of as pleasurable.

Again, a shiver ran through him, his mouth suddenly felt dry.

He pursed his lips.

His reunion with Bea would not come soon enough.

He tried to push all thought of…well…that, out of his head for now. There would be time to explore such thoughts later. For now, he had to focus on the whole royal thing. It could be daunting sometimes, but at least he knew he could do it.

He went to the window of his study, his eyes looking south. Bea and her party would be well on their way by now.

He smiled slightly.

Was she thinking of him?

He found himself thinking of her beautiful face, that slight smile that he had come to know so well.

He hoped that she was thinking of him.

He hoped.

IOI

Bea sat in her tent, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. The group had made camp not far from Dragon's Peak. She could have retired to their old estate, but did not wish to take the group any further out of the way.

Plus, if you do that, she thought, you will have to find lodgings for the Orlesians and their representative.

The mere thought made her frown.

If there was one thing she did **not** want, it was to be with Rene under the same roof.

Such closeness could lead to…complications.

The scholar shook her head. Her thoughts were awhirl, she tried to make sense of all this but could not find a single piece of evidence that would appease her.

 _Of all the men in Orlais, why him,_ she thought.

 _Why_ _ **him**_ _?_

She sighed heavily.

The Maker seemed to enjoy making her life difficult that was the only explanation she could find…

Either that or he was crueler than any slave master in Tevinter.

At this moment either answer would seem correct.

Rene, she thought.

Rene was **here**!

She shook her head, resisting the desire to sob.

 _Blessed Andraste,_ she thought.

 _Give me strength._

Lis and Margaret had joined her. The warrior woman had said little since the Orlesians' arrival. Bea had told her enough about Rene that she knew it best to hold her tongue. If Bea was going to say anything about her former love, she would say it in her own time.

Bea was grateful for that.

Em, however, could not restrain herself, she paced back and forth in their small tent, her mind no doubt working quickly, trying to think of the best way to handle this…debacle.

Em's brow was furrowed with thought, Bea could almost imagine the wheels turning in her sister's head, wheels that squeaked occasionally.

She fought the urge to giggle, not wishing for her sister to think she was hysterical.

That was for the best.

Em was on the verge of hysteria already.

Her elder sister looked like a caged predator, angry and ready to leap on any poor soul foolish enough to get too close.

Bea sighed.

It would have been nice to think that Em's anger was only for her benefit, alas, she knew that just wasn't so.

Em was angry because Rene's presence here had put all of Father's carefully laid plans in jeopardy.

Now she was trying to think of a way to get rid of him.

She turned to her sister, her eyes icy pools of hate.

"We should kill him," she said flatly.

Both Bea and Lis gave her surprised looks.

Em's expression did not falter, if anything she looked more determined than ever.

"That bastard deserves to die."

Lis snorted and shook her head.

"Whatever that boy has done or has not done," the warrior sighed, "I won't harm him."

"He is a threat," Em said coldly.

"He is an official representative of the Orlesian Empire," Lis replied, "Harming him could be considered an act of war."

Margaret gave her a predatory smile.

"So he has an accident," she shrugged, "It happens all the time. The roads of Ferelden are a dangerous place at night. Bandits, darkspawn, who knows what is out there…"

Her eyes flicked with malice.

"It would be such a shame, but…oh well…that is life here in post Blight Ferelden."

Bea was on her feet. She glared at her sister.

Maker, she…she couldn't…

She could not believe they were even discussing this!

"Rene," she said coldly, "Will not be harmed."

Em glared at her.

"I'm surprised at you sister," she said, "This boy broke your heart, tossed you aside like some dog he didn't want anymore, and now, NOW, you are defending him."

Bea shook her head.

"He made a choice," she sighed, "To serve the interests of his family. It hurt, I won't deny that, but that does not mean that I want to see him harmed."

Em put her hands on her hips.

"And what is going to happen when your Rene starts talking," she demanded, "What is going to happen when the king hears about what went on between you two?"

Margarete shook her head.

"If the king decides to reject you, then we will be all out in the cold. Father, Quentin, Arland, me, do you really want to see that happen sister?"

Em gave her a look that was somewhere between rage and pleading.

The sight of it shocked the scholar.

"Would you see your family destroyed because of some past…dalliance?"

Lis glared at the elder Glass.

"The king would not do that," she said, "he is an honorable man."

Em almost laughed.

"Honor has little place in matters of the heart, Lady Cousland," she said, "All the king needs is a single jealous thought, and we will all suffer. You will be sent back to Highever, and Father will likely be stripped of his titles."

Margaret almost whimpered.

"We have come so far, so fast. We can't just let it all fall apart because of some Orlesian ploy. We…"

Her eyes widened, her mouth formed into a surprised 'oh.'

Both Bea and Lis glanced at each other.

What had Em, in her paranoia, came up with now?

Em's eyes narrowed, her pretty face morphing into something cruel and ugly.

She turned her fellow nobles.

"I think it is safe to say that we now know who it was that had us attacked on the road to Highever now."

Lis snorted at that.

"An unfounded speculation," she said.

"Is it?" Em asked.

She glared at Bea.

"Think about it," she said, "Why would the Orlesians ask Rene to be their representative here? He isn't qualified. He is a writer and a poet, what does he know about plants and the Blight?"

"He knows me," Bea answered, "Maybe the Orlesian Ambassador thought that I would be more open to speaking with Rene, given our history…"

Em rolled her eyes.

"Maker," she said, "You are being naïve, sister. It is clear as the nose on your face! The Orlesians are trying to sabotage your relationship with the king!"

Bea pursed her lips, her temper starting to flare. She hated it when Em talked down to her, but at the same time…

She had been in Orlais long enough to know how the game worked.

She continued to worry her lip with her teeth.

Could Em be right?

Could she actually be right?

There were plenty of people in Orlais who would like nothing more than to see Ferelden fall apart. Even before she had left the University there had been people in high places making an argument for a new war.

Ferelden was weak; it needed to be made part of Orlais again in order to survive the trials ahead. The Empress had not allowed those ideas to become anything more than talk, but the fact remained that they were there.

Was this what that was all about?

Though she could hardly say that her involvement with the king would bring about such manipulations, she and Alistair had yet to formalize their relationship and even if they did…

Ferelden and Orlais were in much the same boat, she realized, both had a single monarch on the throne, and neither of those monarchs had produced an heir.

She frowned slightly.

Every year that the Empress went without starting a family, made the likelihood of a royal heir being born less and less certain. Already there were whispers in the court of attempts to replace Celene. If that happened, Ferelden would likely become a target.

A Ferelden with a king with no heir, and…a questionable claim on the throne would be an easy target. If Alistair did have an heir, it would be a step in the right direction, a step toward legitimizing his reign.

Even Cailan and Anora had failed to do that.

Bea sighed.

If Em and was right, there was more going on here than her and Alistair's happiness.

She hated that.

She really hated that.

Her eyes narrowed.

There was only one thing to do, the only thing she could do.

She pushed her way past her sister.

Lis was on her feet in seconds.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

Bea glared her eyes only on the space in front of her.

"I'm going to speak with Rene," she said.

Em's eyes widened, she grabbed her sister's arm.

"Bea! No! That is a bad idea!"

Bea whirled around, her blue eyes blazing."

" **UNHAND ME!"** she growled.

Em's face paled. She wilted slightly under her younger sister's glare.

Never had Bea spoken to her that way…

…Not with such…authority.

She let go of the scholar's arm.

Bea turned without another word; she pushed open her tent and made for the Orlesian's side of camp.

Lis followed after her, she found herself grateful for the warrior woman's presence.

She just might need her friend's strength.

The scholar tried her best to hold her temper in check.

For the last year, she had been a dupe, a game piece being moved across a board.

She hissed under her breath.

She was tired of being a pawn.

That would stop, and it was going to stop…right…

…Now.


	42. A Cruel Kindness

**Chapter 42: A Cruel Kindness**

"Eet is good to see you again, Brigitte. I missed you."

Bea frowned.

This meeting was not going as expected. It would have been so much easier if Rene acted like a total bastard, so much easier.

The scholar shook her head.

Instead he was behaving like the shy gentle boy she had fallen in love with back at school. He still looked upon her with those warm innocent eyes, and…

Bea's eyes narrowed.

 _No,_ she thought.

 _NO!_

 _This would_ _ **not**_ _happen again!_

She needed to deal with this quickly, before anyone else got hurt.

His fingers almost touched hers; she yanked them behind her back.

 _ **This**_ , she thought, _would_ _ **not**_ _be easy._

IOI

It had not been hard to locate Rene in the Orlesian side of camp. Most of the soldiers and servants hurried to get out of the way. Of course, it did not hurt to have Lis Cousland marching behind her.

The warrior woman could clear a path without drawing her sword.

At the time, she was trying very hard to hold her temper in check. Rene had left her life in chaos once…

She had no desire to see it happen again.

She had asked to speak with him privately, and he agreed; they met in a small field outside of camp, surrounded by both Rene's father's people, Lis Cousland, and a few dozen soldiers from both Highever and Denerim.

Bea recognized the need to handle this matter delicately. Surely, reports of this would reach Alistair's ears. She had no desire to hurt him, or jeopardize her family's position in the capital.

This meeting had to be handled completely in the open, no rumors could spread from this, and with so many witnesses it would be impossible for any of her enemies to turn this into some secret rendezvous between her and the Orlesian representative. They were simply, old friends, school chums talking in a field.

That was what needed to happen here.

That is what she intended to see happen.

So, here they were, walking side by side while the bodyguards kept a safe distance. Their presence did not bother her, when she had first started…whatever it was she had had with Rene he often had men around to protect him. Being the son of a wealthy Marquis meant that you attracted many enemies, or rather being your _father's s_ on attracted many enemies.

She dared to glance over at her old flame. He was giving her that shy smiled she remembed so well, the one that had always made her melt back at the university.

She looked away quickly.

He might have laughed, amused at her discomfort.

Bastard.

"I'm pleased to see that you are doing well Rene," she said coolly, "We have not gotten a chance to speak in such a long time.

Rene pursed his lips; her lack of emotion likely surprised him. She had always been a passionate woman, or so he had often told her, it must have been strange to see her holding her feelings in check.

He could not guess how conflicted her heart was right now.

She was angry at his leaving. She was scared that this would cost her Alistair; cost her family everything they had gained in the last year. She was disappointed that he had not even tried to apologize ending their relationship when his father had called him home to marry.

So many emotions, and what surprised her even still that she actually feared for Rene, that she feared for his safety. He was a pawn now in a much large game; pawns had a tendency to be discarded once they had ceased to be useful…

Did she still care about him, even after everything he had done?

She was shocked to find that she did.

She risked another glance at him; he had a thoughtful expression on his face, perhaps her aloofness had made him reconsider what it was he was to say next.

He sighed.

"How is your family?" He asked.

She wanted to tell him to drop dead, but her noble upbringing prevented that.

She answered as respectfully, as she could.

"Well," she responded, "We are well. Father is adapting well to his new role as the Arl of Denerim."

Rene nodded.

"He must be very proud," he continued, "Your father always worked tirelessly for the good of your nation. Eet is good that he is finally getting the recognition that he deserved.

Bea said nothing, not wishing to discuss her father any further. She knew how he would respond to Rene's presence here, and it would not be with respect.

She wondered if she should try to shield him from her father's wrath. She wondered why she should even try.

"How is your family?" she inquired, choosing to keep this conversation as civil as she could.

"My parents are well and in good health," he answered.

"Good," she replied, "Good."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"How is your wife?"

Rene made no attempt to hide his surprise at her bluntness.

His reaction surprised her, or rather, the fact that she had brought up Rene's marriage at all.

She pursed her lips.

It was not that she had brought it up; it was the coldness in her voice when she did it, the barely disguised venom that had seeped into her every word. Bea had never even met the girl. It was not like Rene would have invited her to the wedding. His father would have said no even had Rene wanted it.

He gave her a slightly hurt expression.

"Elena," he said, "She is well…thank you."

Bea nodded, not liking the feelings that she was privy to right now.

Perhaps she was wrong, but she got the sense that Rene was…unhappy in this union.

Part of her took great pleasure in believing that.

That was a part of her she really did not like.

"We are currently living a few blocks down from the University, he informed her, at least until I finish my studies anyway."

"How is…Elena adapting to University life?"

Again Rene flinched.

Bea tried not to savor that.

Maker's breath, she thought.

What is wrong with me?!

"We…um," Rene rubbed the back of his head, ""To be honest we do not see much of each other. My work and her duties keep us apart. It sometimes feels like we are living separate lives."

Again felt a surge of dark satisfaction, it was all she could do to keep a smug smirk from her lips.

The fact that she could take pleasure from another's misfortune, she did not like that.

She did not like it one bit.

It was wrong, she thought.

It was cruel.

Bea had never seen herself as a cruel person.

You will need to cultivate at least a little cruelty, her conscience chided.

How else will you survive the royal court?

Bea tried not to think about that. She had no desire to turn into one of **those** nobles, the type of noble that took pleasure from only their enemy's misfortune.

She was better than that; at least, she had thought herself better than that, once upon a time…

Rene sighed.

He reached out, tried to take her hand as he had done in the old days.

She pulled away from him, her temper no longer restrain able.

Rene turned to face her, confusion and anger coloring his normally gentle features.

She glared into those puppy dog eyes of his.

She would not be made a fool of again.

"Has your heart grown cold so quickly," he demanded, "Is the warmth that I desired so finally burned out?"

"My heart is fine," she hissed back, "You have no hold over it anymore."

Her hostility made him take a step back. Rene had always been a bit of an innocent, a babe in the woods so to speak.

Was it possible that he did not even realize how much pain he had caused her?

It was possible she supposed.

"I nevair meant to hurt you," he said.

"And yet you did, none the less," she replied, her blue eyes flashing with anger.

So much had gone unsaid, she was tempted to throw away all her caution and lay into him, to have the…discussion he had denied her when he ran off to marry his betrothed.

Lashing out would feel really good, she thought, but again she did her best to reign in that compulsion.

Rene was still a sanctioned representative of the Orlesian Empire.

She needed to treat him with respect.

Bea shook her head.

"Do you even realize why you were sent here Rene? Do you know why you were given this mission?"

He snorted.

"A member of the Royal Court asked it of my father," he answered, "They needed someone they could trust."

Bea rolled her eyes.

"You are not that naïve," she hissed, "Surely, even in Orlais; you have heard at least some of the rumors about my family, about me?"

Rene crossed his arms.

"Oui," he said, "I have 'eard many rumors, but I saw no reason to give such drivel credence, I know what kind of woman you are Brigitte, you would never do some of the things I've heard people say that you have done."

For a moment she felt conflicted again, proud that Rene was defending her, but angry that people back in the Empire were talking about her.

The gossiping of Ferelden nobles she could handle, but the thought that her former peers at the University might be saying things about her…

She could not deny it…

That…that hurt.

He started to move towards her, like he was going to touch her. She backed away quickly.

No.

He would not touch her again!

Again he gave her that hurt look.

"I know you mademoiselle," he said, "The Brigitte I knew would never whore herself out to get what she wanted."

Bea pursed her lips again.

Rene was not making this easy.

Yes, for months she had heard the rumors about her and Alistair, the veiled insults.

She frowned.

Strangely enough, she no longer feared those rumors.

She and Alistair were friends, but a part of her, a slowly growing part of her, desired more than that, more than…platonic affection.

She shook her head.

If the king asked to share her bed, she was no longer sure that she would deny him. She was no longer sure that she wanted to deny him.

She licked her lips nervously.

Alistair would not have to give her what she wanted professionally if he wanted her in that way.

Part of her, wanted to be his…and that part of her was growing stronger.

She managed a shuddering breath.

Now was not the time for such thoughts.

She needed to deal with Rene, but deal with him in a way that he would not get hurt.

It was not an easy challenge.

Again his eyes burned into her.

"What we had," he murmured, "It is still precious to me."

She felt a chill run down her spine.

Oh no.

He looked at her with such passion in his eyes, such pain.

She tried to ignore it.

"Are you going to tell me that you feel nothing?" he demanded, "Nothing for me, nothing for us."

She glared at him anew.

"You're married," she said flatly.

The should have been it, she thought, that should have been reason enough, reason enough right there for Rene to abandon his ridiculous confession.

Alas, he did not.

"That is a matter of duty," he said, "What is expected of my family. What we had…that was more."

Bea shook her head.

"Had," she said with a frown, "Past tense, Rene."

Again he looked upon her with hurt in his eyes.

She wanted to turn away, leave him in a lurch, like he left her.

Yet, she found herself rooted right in that spot.

Damn him.

"Have you forgotten already," he said, "Have you…"

His eyes widened, as if realization had finally struck him.

"Is there another?" he murmured.

Bea's frown deepened.

"Do you love another?"

Bea felt her temper starting to rise again.

It was none of his business!

What she had with Alistair. She…she was not sure if it was love, not yet, perhaps. She did not deny that there was a deep affection between them.

Rene's betrayal had taught her to be careful when it came to her heart.

Now…here he was again, walking into her life, and trying to make everything difficult again!

She would not have it.

"I will not answer that question, Rene," she murmured, "It is none of your concern."

His face fell. He looked at her like some poor wounded animal.

She refused to let sympathy claim her, now was not the time for sympathy.

She stood rigid, proud; she would not show weakness here.

"There is more going on here than you realize," she informed him, "You made a choice for the good of your family once. It hurt me, but I lived with that choice…"

The scholar sighed.

"We are both caught up in a dangerous game, but I would not wish you harmed. So, if you ever valued me, if your heart was ever true to what we had…"

Rene looked on the verge of tears, but he nodded.

Thank the Maker for small favors, she thought.

"You will forget about me," she said flatly, "If you value your life and mine you will never speak of us again, is that clear?"

"Brigitte?" he almost whimpered.

"Is that clear?"

She realized she was almost in tears herself, all the pain he had caused her coming back. It was…liberating to free herself from his memory, but at the same time…

She was afraid he was going to make this difficult, that he was going to deny her one request.

He nodded with a shudder.

Bea pursed her lips.

Good, she thought.

At least he managed to hold onto at least some of his noble wits.

She turned and left, saying nothing more, not even bothering to look his way.

She had been cruel, yes, but cruel with the kindest of intentions.

Rene was a pawn in all this; she would not see him sacrificed for the greater game.

He called after her one last time. She did not dare respond.

"Have you no pity, Brigitte?"

Bea frowned.

In this, no, she did not have pity.

Pity was dangerous in the great game, almost as dangerous…

She suppressed a whimper.

…As love.


	43. Royal Things

**Chapter 43: Royal Things**

"The preparations are ready for the Orzammar trip, Your Majesty."

"Uh huh," Alistair said with a slight nod.

"You need not worry about the capital, Your Majesty," Arl Glass said, "My son will do his duty to keep things peaceful in your absence.

"Uh huh," the king replied.

Nathaniel Glass pursed his lips, no doubt trying to decide if the king had heard him or not.

Arl Teagan smiled slightly. Alistair heard more than most people gave him credit for, and he was far more skilled at ruling then even he believed, but it was also clear that the king was starting to get stale, he had remained isolated in the capital for too long.

Teagan believed that it was time for the Alistair to get out.

Personally, he thought it would do the king some good to get out of the capital for a while. Eamon would have preferred it if Alistair did not attend, but the Arl of Redcliffe recognized that Alistair was not just their king, he was a man of action…

Such a person could not remain safe behind locked doors forever; such a person would go mad.

The king stood before the window as his advisors made their reports. Teagan and Arl Nathaniel were outlining what the king might have to expect out of this trip. It was a basically a celebration for the champions of the Blight as well as honoring the brave dwarven soldiers that journeyed to Denerim to help bring an end to the darkspawn horde.

A sign of unity between the two kingdoms would be valuable. Both Bhelen and Alistair were still fairly new to their respected crowns.

By standing together during this meeting, the two kings would help each other cement their mutual rights to rule.

Wilbur Rich stood silently off to the side, as any good secretary would.

Teagan tried not frown.

He did not like or trust the man, Alistair however saw him as a valuable ally, for that reason alone, the Arl of Redcliffe was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Some believed that this trip might have been Rich's idea, King Bhelen might have suggested holding a proving in the king's honor, but it was Rich who helped sell it to the nobles, and not everyone had agreed on the value of it.

Some in the royal court he knew did not consider this trip worth the risk. That by making the journey the king was leaving himself far too open to his enemies. Teagan did not agree. Cailan had never shied away from his own people, if his subjects started to believe that Alistair was afraid, or that they did not matter, it was only a matter of time before the people turned against him. They had lost too much during the Blight. For the moment, Alistair's status as a hero protected him from their blame, but that protection would fade if the people started to think he did not have their best interests at heart.

No, Alistair needed to be out among his subjects, but that did not mean that the business of state could be ignored.

Eamon would remain behind to keep an eye and Denerim and handle any business that might come up in the king's absence. Quentin Glass would remain as Arl Nathaniel's regent in the city, both to govern or keep order if the need was called for. The bulk of the royal court would accompany them for most of the journey, not to mention a large force of knights and bodyguards. Additional forces from the city of Amaranthine and Highever would link up with them as they made their way past those respected cities. Once Bea finished with mission in the Hinterlands she would join them on the road to Orzammar, the two groups would meet in Gherlen's path before proceeding on to Orzammar.

It might seem like a lot of security, but Ferelden was far from stable, even with the Blight in the past, and King Alistair had no heirs…

Some might see that as opportunity, opportunity that they could not pass up.

The door to the chamber opened, they had been expecting Quentin Glass, as the Arl's official heir, he was supposed to be at this meeting.

The Lady Jayne entered her cool expression as neutral as ever.

"My lords," she said with a deep curtsey.

"My dear," Arl Glass said with a frown.

Teagan gave the girl an even look.

"Where is your husband, Lady Glass?" he said, "Lord Quentin is expected."

The lady frowned.

"My apologies, Your Grace," she said curtseying again, "My husband is currently occupied with other business, he asked me to come in his stead."

Arl Glass frowned.

"My son **needs** to be here," he said, "He has much expected of him in our absence."

Teagan said nothing.

Since he had first arrived here in the capital, the lure of the pleasures of Denerim had…entranced the younger son of House Glass. Teagan had heard several rumors about the young lord Quentin, but given his father's connection to Eamon, he had chosen not to give those rumors any thought.

Teagan shook his head.

It did not bode well for the future if Arl Nathaniel's official heir trusted his wife to handle such matters. Still…it was **not** the girl's fault.

Arl Nathaniel was glaring at his young daughter-in-law,

The Lady bowed her head.

"I will leave if that is your desire."

Teagan, taking pity on her, chose to come to her rescue.

"I'm sure the young lady can bring husband up to speed, Your Grace," he said with a dismissive smile.

"Indeed," Wilbur Rich said behind him, "She comes from a very storied family herself, and it can only improve relations with West Hill if we let her try."

Arl Glass frowned and shook his head.

Finally, the man sighed.

"Very well," he said, "If my son wishes his wife to rule while we are away, so be it."

He motioned for the girl to come forward.

The Lady curtseyed again, and took her place at the table.

Teagan gave her what he thought was a reassuring smile. Her lips twitched close to what might have been a smile but quickly faded.

A pretty one, she was, he thought, not as pretty as his young Kaitlyn, but he was more than a little bias on that fact.

Once again, the Arl of Redcliffe looked up at his Majesty.

Alistair had not even moved.

""The Lady Jayne has joined us, Your Majesty," Rich informed him.

"Yeah," Alistair said with a slight not, ""Lady Jayne, joining us, got it."

Teagan chuckled.

His Majesty was distracted today, but from the slight smile on his face...

The Arl smiled.

He thought he knew the reason why.

IOI

Alistair was not ignoring the meeting, not fully ignoring it anyway. The preparations were important, he knew that, but he also knew that he was in good hands. He trusted Teagan and the others…

He idly rubbed his chin, listening to the conversation behind him, picking up when voices rose slightly, figuring that was the most important information, what he needed to know.

As for the rest, Teagan and Arl Glass would handle it. Will Rich would make sure that he heard anything important he might have missed later.

The secretary had a talent for such things. He had spent much time in Alistair's company since taking the job, and learned to recognize when his sovereign was…zoning out, so to speak.

He could not help it. He had…other things on his mind.

The king's eyes remained focused on the south, on the path that Lady Bea had taken.

He smiled slightly.

He looked forward to seeing her again, away from the hustle of the capital.

Bea's work was important; he recognized that fact, just as he was aware of how important his royal duties were. They needed to be taken care of, but at the same time…he longed for a chance to get away from the capital, to see the country that he had sacrificed his life as a warden for…

He remembered well how he was treated in Orzammar; there a warden commanded the highest of respect. They had seen him as a warrior, not just a life line for the name of Theirin. They had seen him…not a bastard prince or a would-be king.

He missed that.

Plus it would be good to be on the road again. The Ferelden countryside was not the safest place to travel; there was at least a chance he would get to use his martial skills again. He welcomed such an opportunity.

As King he recognized the need to keep him safe, but same time, he had come to feel like a well-cared for pet. Once he had battle demon and darkspawn both.

After that, no cage was acceptable, even one lined with gold and soft fur.

He had already decided, if the chance to use his sword came up, he would take it. It would be good to flex those muscles again, and if Bea happened to have joined them by then…so much the better.

He wanted to share everything with her…

Everything.

A slight shudder ran down his spine.

From his earliest days in the abbey, being a gentleman had been drilled into him. How to behave himself around a young lady was the first lesson that the sisters had taught him. Then he had joined the wardens, and then the Blight began. His warden brothers had their own opinions on how to treat a lady. He had tried not to blush too hard at some of their suggestions.

Then…he had met Zevran Arainai.

The king shook his head.

He had never shared the same fondness for the assassin that Kallian had possessed. She might have forgiven him for trying to kill them all, but Alistair had not. He had forced himself to at least remain civil to the elf. He had tried, for her, even going so far as taking shifts on watch together, those shifts would not have been that bad if Zev had refrained from talking.

Alas, he was unable to do so.

Zevran Arainai loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

Most of the time he told Alistair stories about his conquests back in Antiva. He had done this for his own amusement more than anything else.

That and he enjoyed making Alistair blush.

Still, looking back maybe it had not been all bad. He had taken a few ideas from those stories, ideas that had…pleased Kallian when they did finally become lovers.

He had not thought about those stories much since Kallian had died, but now…with Bea in his life…well…

He smiled slightly.

Perhaps it was time to dust off some of that information, and put it to use again.

Bea's work took up so much of her time. It would do her good to get away from it, and give them a chance to explore…other matters together.

Last night he had dreamed of one possible scenario, it involved a good bottle of wine, some rose petals, and a pair of manacles…

 _Bad Alistair,_ the king thought with a slight smirk.

 _Bad. Bad. Bad._

He did not wish to scare her off, but at the same time, he was curious about where they might go from here. He had felt the heat of her passions when he had first stolen that deep kiss in the corridor.

Now…he wanted to see if she wanted **more**.

He had not discussed this with anyone. Maker knew; he did not even know how to bring up such a topic, even if there was anyone here he could trust to hold his confidence.

There were too many eyes here in Denerim, too many tongues looking for an excuse to wag.

He welcomed the chance to get away from those eyes and tongues for a while.

He longed for a chance at alone time with Bea.

He glanced up at his advisors. Teagan had just said something about bringing in extra security from Amaranthine. It would mean approaching Bann Lorelei of course, but that would not be much of a problem.

The girl seemed more than eager to please.

Alistair sighed and dove back into the whole royal thing. He put all thoughts of his honeyed daydreams aside…at least for now.

The king smiled slightly.

He could not wait to get out of the capital.

He could not wait.


	44. Duty

**Chapter 44: Duty**

" **Milady! Thank the Maker you are here!"**

Bea frowned as she dismounted from her horse. She had only just arrived in the king's camp after her journey up from the south.

The last things she had expected was a personal greeting from the king's secretary.

All around them the small valley before the entrance to Gherlen's Pass had been transformed. Dozens of tents and royal banners rocked gently in the low mountain breeze. To the scholar's eye, it looked as if half the royal court were here with their servants and their bodyguards. It was quite a turn out for a simple diplomatic mission.

Lis remained close to her, as she had since they left the capital. Margaret stayed to the back, still pouting over how Bea had decided to deal with Rene. The Orlesians had elected to return to Denerim, so that their representative could give his report to the Ambassador in person…

…Bea was quite happy with that decision, she did not wish for Alistair to bump into Rene, at least, not yet. So far her former beau was keeping silent about their history.

So far he had remained true to her request, and had kept silent about their past. She hoped greatly that he would stay that course.

Em still was not sure though. She still believed that it would be safer if Rene was… _removed_. Bea refused to believe that, and forbade Em from even making such a suggestion to her father. Em was no fool. She knew that she would not share in whatever was to come if she disobeyed her sister now. Bea might have been angry at Rene, but that did not mean that she wanted to see him hurt. As for the Orlesians, they still needed to be kept happy. Ferelden still needed Orlesian goods if it was going to continue on the road to recovery. Her plants, if they worked the way she suspected would help, but that would take time.

She had no desire to jeopardize either Alistair or Ferelden as a whole by indulging in petty revenge.

She had left Talia behind to observe the plants; a tiny field on the edge of the Hinterlands had been converted into an outdoor lab of sorts. Unlike any other scholar the tranquil would not be tempted to lie about the results because she wished for their experiments to succeed. The stakes were too high to risk such foolishness. Several researchers and a company of guards were left behind as well. Bea would normally have thought it rather foolish to need to guard a small field of plants, but considering her enemies back in Denerim.

It was better safe than sorry. Would one of her opponents in Denerim really risk destroying her work, just to discredit her?

She could not risk that possibility.

So, with everything secured for their little test, they had left. She had received word that the King's entourage had already left the capital, and would likely already be set up near Gherlen's Pass by the time they arrived.

The presence of the bright little tent city at the base of the mountain proved such speculations were correct. The guards, expecting her, had not wasted anytime in allowing her and her party to pass.

Now…they stood confronted by Wilbur Rich.

Bea could not help but wonder what was going on.

The man, normally so cool under pressure was distressed, if not excited, an unusual sight considering the usually unflappable secretary.

If Rich was concerned, it must have been something important.

Bea followed him, with Lis Cousland following at her heels. Em stayed behind to find their father.

Bea had glared at her older sister.

They had discussed what would happen if she told Father about Rene, and made any…recommendations on how House Glass should proceed.

Em was no fool, if her younger sister's star was rising in the capital as everyone tended to believe, then angering her would not be the smartest of ideas.

Margaret knew enough to keep silent. Rene was Bea's problem.

She would handle it her way, and in her own time.

The scholar glanced up at Rich. The Secretary's lips were pursed in a grim frown. The fact that his normal oily smile was not there suggested how serious the current matter was.

Once they were out of earshot of Em, Bea motioned for him to speak.

The King is leaving camp to hunt a pack of darkspawn," the man murmured, "I was hoping that you might be able to talk him out of it."

Bea's eyes widened.

"What do you mean?" she hissed, "How did this happen?"

"Four days ago we bumped into a dwarven trade caravan on its way to Highever," Rich replied, "They had been attacked on the road by a rather large group of the creatures. Not an uncommon thing so soon after a Blight I'm told."

Rich grimaced.

"The Darkspawn are unpredictable at the best of times. After their failed assault on the City of Amaranthine, many no doubt fled back to the mountains, it is a safe bet that not all retreated back underground. It is likely a group of these that are causing problems."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"Didn't you suggest to the King that we send word to the wardens in Amaranthine? This is their calling after all?"

The man shrugged.

"I suggested that very thing, Milady, but the King would not hear of it. He says we already have a warden in camp, and suggests that we use him."

The secretary shook his head.

"It is unwise for the king to do this, even with a full company of soldiers at his back. The darkspawn are dangerous. Ferelden already lost good King Cailan to the monsters…"

Bea shivered.

 _The thought of Alistair facing those monsters…_

… _What if he didn't come back?_

The scholar frowned.

 _What was he thinking?_

Alistair did not strike her as a glory seeker. Rumors suggested that Cailan was, and that his glory seeking might have led him to taking risks which allowed the Teyrn of Gwaren to betray him.

She shook her head.

"I agree that he should not do this," she told the man, "But what makes you think he will listen to me?"

Rich's oily smile returned.

"If anyone could get him to listen, it is you, milady," he said, "The king has missed you, and holds you in high regard, if you were to ask him to let the wardens handle this matter, he would likely acquiesce to your wishes…"

It was then that Lis Cousland spoke up.

"But our king **is** a warden," she reminded them both, "surely he understand the danger that they pose?"

Rich and Bea both turned to the warrior.

"He is **our** king, Lady Cousland," Rich reminded her, "and he has **no** heirs, the risk of him entering such a situation is unnecessary, especially with other wardens so close."

"Plus we don't know how many of the creatures are out there," Bea gave her friend a worried look.

"What if there are too many? What if the king gets overwhelmed?!"

The secretary nodded.

"And there is another consideration," Rich added, "I have yet to deal with the matter of possible enemy agents within the nobility to my satisfaction. Given the chaos that results when a battle is joined, it is possible that an enemy of His Majesty might choose this time to try and assassinate the king."

Rich shook his head.

"We need to talk His Majesty out of this; it is too unnecessary a risk."

Bea shuddered.

Rich had told her about what had happened outside that farmhouse near Highever. She knew the man still believed at least some of the perpetrators of that travesty were still at large.

The scholar hated to admit it, but she suspected that Mister Rich was not simply being paranoid, his concerns were justified."

She worried her lower lip with her teeth.

This was not just about her family's profits, she cared for Alistair.

She hated the thought of him in danger.

The scholar began to muster her courage.

She would speak with him; try to get Alistair to see reason.

"And what if you cannot," Lis asked her friend.

Bea frowned.

 _What if she couldn't convince Alistair to leave this matter alone?_

 _How far would she push it?_

 _Would she have to risk angering him?_

 _Would she have to risk losing what they were just starting to find together?_

Rich glared at the warrior woman.

"If you have a better idea Lady Cousland," he said, "Please speak your mind, we are all ears."

The warrior frowned.

She looked right at Bea, her friend.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Lis…I…"

"Do you trust me, Bea?"

The scholar fidgeted. She did trust her friend, but…the thought of putting Alistair at risk worried her.

She nodded weakly.

Lis's expression turned grim.

"Your concerns have merit, Mister Secretary," she said, "And I may be able to help deal with them. If the king insists on hunting these monsters, then I can provide you with a list of volunteers who you can trust implicitly. People I have trusted my life to many times."

She gave her friend a soft smile.

"They will keep the king safe."

Rich was still not satisfied.

"Perhaps, Lady Cousland, perhaps, but what if the darkspawn prove too numerous?"

Lis pursed her lips.

"I've been told that wardens can sense darkspawn in some way. If the king believes that it is a large group, we will return here and go seek the aid of the wardens. If it is not, we will protect the king, and help him destroy these monsters once and for all."

Her choice of words surprised both Bea and Rich.

"We?" they said in unison.

Lis smiled.

"I'll go with them," she said.

Bea gave her friend a worried look.

"Lis. I…"

"I'll go," the warrior woman repeated, "I've never had the chance to test my mettle against the darkspawn. Fighting such an enemy is my duty as a warrior of Ferelden."

Rich frowned again.

"Which puts us back in the same position, Lady Cousland," he said, "Now not only are we risking the King's life, but your own as well."

The man shook his head.

"You are one of the two remaining Couslands in Ferelden. I would hate to have to answer to your brother if you fell."

Lis' eyes narrowed.

"Have no fear, Mister Secretary," she said, "I seriously doubt my brother would be that concerned over my end, as for my falling in battle that is the possibility of anyone who takes up arms."

The warrior woman stood a little straighter.

"If I must die in combat, so be it, but I will make sure our king returns safely."

Bea frowned.

She did not want to see Alistair endangered, but the same was true for Lis Cousland as well.

Sending them both into battle seemed…seemed.

She almost whimpered.

She had no words for how this felt.

Finally, she nodded.

"If I cannot convince Alistair to abandon this idea, then I will insist that he takes Lis and her allies with them."

She turned to Rich.

"I vouch for Lis, and her choices, you can take some comfort in that Mister Secretary."

Wilbur Rich considered all this; he clearly still did not like it, but…

Finally, his smile returned.

"As you wish Your Majesty," he said to Bea, "We will play it your way. I will travel with you, and we shall inform the king of what is happening.

The three of them continued on.

Bea glanced over at Alistair's secretary.

"Yes?" he asked.

She gave him a curious look.

"You referred to me as 'Your Majesty?"

Rich chuckled.

"My apologies, Milady," he said bowing his head, "I spend so much time in the company of the king. I use that form of address far too often."

He looked away shyly.

"My apologies," he said again, "It just slipped out."

Bea nodded. That made sense she supposed still…still…

The scholar frowned.

Part of her still felt that she had turned a corner…

And there was no turning back.

IOI

Rich said nothing more as he led the two women towards His Majesty's tent. He was trying hard to conceal his glee.

Not about the situation of course, oh no, he still thought the king was being reckless, but by what he had observed in the last few moments.

What he had seen here, made all the difference.

Referring to the lady as Your Majesty had been a slip, but only because he believed that he had seen the future. One that was already ordained, or at least one he would at least work hard to see come to pass.

His smile widened slightly.

The Chancellor and Arl Glass had made a mistake choosing the Lady Bea. They thought because the girl had no interest in politics that that would make it easier to control her and through her the king that was only now started to realize that he did have the makings of a ruler.

They had underestimated the girl.

The Lady Bea did not like politics, but that did not mean that she did not understand politics. She did not like the game, knew enough about how it was played that she was not easily manipulated.

Such qualities intrigued Wilbur Rich.

Ruling a kingdom was not easy. Kings were often called onto make difficult decisions, decisions that they might not agree with morally, but in the end they had to perform them, for the good of the realm.

Alistair had not mastered that skill…not yet...

That is why he needed his loyal secretary.

Rich almost chuckled.

He knew how the nobility saw him, and their scorn did not bother him.

When the king was finally called upon to make a difficult choice, Rich would be there to present all the options to him. His own reputation would protect Alistair's, and if the king conscience got the best of him. He would have the Lady Bea there to comfort him. She would not like those decisions either, but she would understand the necessity, and help His Majesty come to terms with the consequences.

The three of them, they would make Ferelden strong again.

He would be the King's secretary, his confidant, and the demon whispering in his ear.

Alistair would be the war hero, the legend that kept the nobles and their enemies at bay.

Lady Bea was…she would be the rest.

The Circle already supported her, as did the elves and the Couslands, with such allies she was a woman on the rise.

She would surpass her father, she would surpass her family.

She…was a Queen in the making.

Yes, he would do everything he could.

Bea would be there Queen.

He touched his father's old gold ring, the ring that Queen Moira herself had given his grandfather.

Rich could not be a king, but he could be a queen maker, and Andraste protect anyone who got in his way.

IOI

Alistair and his knights left the mountain path. The King, clad in fine gold and silverite armor led the way with Lis Cousland following closely in his wake.

The sun had set behind the mountains, and in its place long shadows reached out, for the twenty warriors that Lis had convinced to accompany them. All of them with the exception of Lady Cousland herself had all seen some action during the Blight.

They had at least crossed blades with the darkspawn before.

The warrior woman seemed a little nervous.

Alistair did not blame her.

He was a little nervous himself, not the darkspawn hunting, that was old hat.

He was nervous for another reason.

He reached out with his warden senses; he could feel the beasts from somewhere up ahead, not a horde, but still quite a few of the fiends.

The King's eyes narrowed.

Things were likely going to get exciting in a few moments.

He tried to will himself to be ready.

"Bea was not too unhappy with me, was she?" he murmured.

Behind him, he heard Elissa sigh.

"She was not pleased, Your Majesty," she said in a low voice, not wishing to alert their quarry of their presence.

Alistair's eyes narrowed.

He did not wish to displease Bea, but at the same time he needed to do this.

It was not just his duty as king, but as a warden as well.

They continued on. Lis gave the king a surprised look.

"Is now such a good time to ask about her?" the warrior woman inquired.

Alistair chuckled.

"You should have seen us during the Blight; raids by darkspawn were quite common. If we did not discuss dinner during fights we never would have come up with a menu for that night.

Lis gave him an exasperated sigh.

Alistair did not blame her, but at the same time he was only partially kidding.

He and the others had gotten used to darkspawn attacks.

It was another reason he needed to do this.

It was his duty.

A king defends his people, and Alistair's status as a warden meant he was better suited to the task than anyone else, anyone who was not a warden, anyway.

The King sighed.

This was not about glory seeking, he was **not** Cailan, this was necessary.

What if the darkspawn decided to attack camp while he was gone in Orzammar?

What if they started raiding the farmholds or travelers that were supplying the camp?

If anyone died, that would be on his head. He had the power to track the beasts, and the skill to destroy them; with the help of the others he could still do both.

He had tried to explain that to Bea, but she still did not wish him to go.

She was worried about his safety, not just as king, but as himself.

He smiled at the thought.

It was nice to know someone cared. He…

He stopped, and raised his hand, his guards and fellow knights stopped.

Lis leaned forward, great sword in hand.

"What is it?" she inquired.

Alistair did not answer at least not with words.

He brought up his kite shield.

A darkspawn arrow struck hard on its surface.

IOI

Lis' eyes widened.

If the King had not raised his shield…?

It was then that she saw them, or rather one of them.

A shiver ran down the warrior woman's spine.

The creature was tall and lanky, ugly pointed armor protected its misshapen body. Pale yellow skin was pulled tight over a skull like face, a face covered with black sores. White milky eyes, with red slits like a cat's stared out at her from the darkness. In one of its long arms, the creature carried a wicked curved sword.

It was not what fired the arrow, but…

The creature laughed, an ugly phlegmy thing, yet the darkspawn did not attack, not yet.

The king held his ground while the knights stood ready, waiting for the attack order to come.

For a moment there was a pregnant silence in the air, the two enemies facing each other, one in full few, and the other unseen.

The king regarded the creature with grim determination, he held up his weapon.

Darkspawn snarled.

IOI

Alistair glared at the fiend.

All insecurities he felt on a regular basis faded.

He had no time for them right now.

They would be a distraction possibly a fatal one.

He sneered at the hurlock; the monster raised its sword.

 _Okay,_ he thought…

 _Your move._

The darkspawn cried out, a high pitched wail of a battle cry.

Thirty of the fiends leapt out from behind the rocks. Darkspawn arrows slammed into shields.

The King roared.

" _ **FOR FERELDEN!"**_

The soldiers behind him charged.

Then everything was steel…steel…and…

…blood.


	45. Weapons

**Chapter 45: Weapons**

Bea paced back and forth in her father's tent.

It had been almost an hour since Alistair and his knights had left, almost an hour with no word from any of them. She knew that news would likely not return so quickly, but that did not mean that that small irrational part of her mind did not want it too.

The scholar shook her head.

What had she been thinking?

She could have tried harder. She could have come up with a better argument; she was a learned woman, for Andraste's sake. Surely she could have come up with something to convince the king to abandon his foolish crusade.

Father sat at a small table reading letters from his various allies and business partners. Em sat in the opposite corner, performing some type of needle point.

Bea frowned.

She never had had any talent for needle point herself. Her governess had tried to help her, but whatever she tried to sew always ended up looking like a knotted up sack.

At that moment, she wished that she had some talent in that arena; it would have been nice to do something to keep her hands busy, not to mention to take her mind off what was going on beyond the light of their campfires.

She paused and looked out the opening of the tent.

It would be dark soon.

Her frown deepened.

Lis had insisted that they would be back before dark, provided they did not find anything first. The fact that they had not returned suggested that the king and the others had found something…

…or perhaps…

She stifled a whimper.

…Perhaps some **thing** had found them.

Her father looked up from his reports, he gave her a concerned look, but it was clear he did not know what to say to comfort her.

Em glanced up and rolled her eyes.

She was still aggravated at her younger sister.

"You _could_ have stopped him, you know?"

Bea glared at her.

"And just how would I have done that, sister?" she inquired, "How would I have convinced our king not to do what he felt was his duty?"

Arl Glass pursed his lips. Having raised them both he knew the start of a major argument when he heard one. He knew both his daughters well enough for that.

This time, he elected to intervene before things got out of hand.

"Daughters, please."

Both turned to face him.

He turned his attention to his youngest.

"I know you are worried Sweetheart," he said, "But this is something you are likely going to have to get used to. Being involved with a fighting man means that every once and a while, he **will** go off to fight."

The Arl shook his head.

"You need to have patience and faith in His Majesty's skills."

Bea worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Father was trying to comfort her, but…

She still could not help but wonder if she could have tried harder. Could she have said something…?

Margaret snorted and shook her head again.

Bea turned to her sister, a questioning look on her face.

"I take it you believe that you could have convinced the king to stay?"

Em shrugged.

"If **I** had been in your position," she said, "possibly."

The scholar put her hands on her hips.

"And just how would you have done that, pray tell?"

Em looked up from her needles; she gave her sister a sly smile.

"You do not use all the weapons available to you sister," she said, "You never have…"

Margaret sighed.

She stood up and guided her sister to a small mirror in their father's tent. She stood right behind Bea while the younger Glass stood in front of it.

Em smiled slightly.

"You are probably one of the smartest people I know, sister," she began, "But for some reason, you seem to think that your mind and your wits are your only advantage in this life."

Bea started to turn away but she stopped her.

"Look, sister," Em advised.

"Look."

Bea turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She still did not understand her older sister's point.

Em's smile widened.

"You are a beautiful girl, Bea," she said, "What you say maybe wise, but that is not the reason that men listen to you when you first meet them. They see what is in front of them, and are drawn to what they like, what they _want_."

She ran her finger down her sister's arm.

"The king cares about you. I do not doubt that, but…he wants you as well. You can use that to your advantage."

"Of course he wants me at his side," Bea said, "My work is…"

Em rolled her eyes.

"It is not your work that interests him totally, Bea," Em smirked, "You serve him well during the day, but at night…"

Margaret's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"At night…Our king will require…other services, services that you can provide."

The scholar's eyes widened.

She finally understood what her sister was saying.

Her cheeks reddened.

"Em…I…this…this is not something we should be discussing."

Arl Glass stood up. For a moment she thought her father was going to say something to Em how noble ladies did not speak of such things, not in the company of their families anyway.

Again, her father surprised her.

"Em…she…she may be right Sweetheart," he murmured, "Things may proceed more…smoothly if you were making the king…happy…in other ways."

The scholar pulled away from her sister, she…she was all but speechless.

She…she…

Oh my!

Her face turned bright scarlet.

"I…I can't believe you," she stammered, "Both of you."

Em smirked at her. Their father at least had the decency to at least look a little embarrassed by this conversation.

"Simple acts of…passion will make the king more agreeable to our suggestions, daughter," he said.

"Stop," Bea said.

"Sweetheart, We…"

The scholar raised her hand.

"STOP!"

Both Em and her father fell silent.

Bea glared at them both.

"We are not having this conversation," she said, "What happens between me and Alistair when it comes to our…nights is our concern."

She glared at her sister.

"You would see me use my body as a weapon?"

"It's not a weapon," Em said, "It is an advantage, you…"

She stopped her with a raised hand.

She turned to her father.

"This is not the kind of thing one discusses with one's father," she said, "I'm surprised that you would even listen to such talk."

Arl Glass shrugged.

"I only want what is best for you dear."

Bea shook her head.

It was clear that he was not going to stop talking about this.

She only had one choice.

She fled.

"Bea," she heard her father call after her.

"BEA!"

She did not stop. Most would not leave an Arl's presence without being dismissed first, but the advantage of being the man's daughter and a favorite of the king did have some advantages.

She sighed.

She was a favorite of Alistair's that was her one advantage, and she was not afraid to use it.

She would return to her own tent and await Alistair's return there.

She took a deep breath.

She…she still could not believe it.

Em was one thing, but Father too, that father was agreeing with Em!

The whole prospect was **mortifying.**

Had she thought about being with the king in the most intimate way?

 _Yes._

But that did not mean that she wanted to discuss such matters with her sister, much less her **father!**

She sighed.

Her body was no weapon! She would not use it as such.

But what if it worked, her conscience chided.

That thought stopped her cold.

 _What if she had promised to be Alistair's tonight if he had not gone hunting those monsters?_

 _Would he have stopped?_

 _Would he have stayed_ _ **here**_ _…would he have stayed…with her?_

The thought made her heart pound, her mouth went dry.

She…she…

She tried not to think about that.

She would have faith. Alistair would return.

But if he doesn't you will spend the rest of your life wondering if Em was right. What if you could have stopped him?

She almost whimpered.

She could not think like that.

She had to be strong.

She had to have faith.

Alistair would be back.

He would return.

IOI

Alistair cried out. The weight of the darkspawn was like a stone on his chest, a heavy, oozy, smelly stone, but a stone none the less.

The darkspawn had tried to surprise them, to surround them. The king had sensed the trap and pulled his men back just enough. The creatures had a slight advantage in numbers, but…

He noticed right away that they were not as organized as they had been during the Blight. They possessed some basic tactics, but as a whole the monsters were not the threat they had been when the Archdemon still drew breath. That did not make them any less dangerous however. They tried to swarm over the Ferelden soldiers.

Swarming it seemed, like swooping, was bad.

The darkspawn that had leapt upon him had stopped him from landing a killing blow on the hurlock he had been fighting. The darkspawn's blade had been no match for his father's sword; the blade had shattered the darkspawns curved metal weapon. The creature had tried to leap at him, reaching out with its claws and fangs. He had shoved it away, which was when one of its allies had leapt up knocking him down.

He glared up into those milky empty eyes. The shriek had caught him off guard, coming down from a ledge higher up on the mountain path.

The King gasped as he felt a small blade slide between his belt and his breast plate, the mail he wore underneath protected him somewhat, but…

…it was not entirely enough.

He could feel warm blood leaking from the wound.

He snarled and tried to push the creature off.

All around them the fighting was both fierce and brutal. The shouting of men mingled with the high pitched cries and hisses of the darkspawn. Steel met steel, as arrows and bolts flew through the air.

The Shriek that had pinned the king raised its head, ready to use the earsplitting cry that had given the monsters their name. Alistair would have stopped it but he was too busy defending himself against those long arms and the tiny blades they carried. Small they might have been, but more than enough to open up a man's throat, if he let them.

The creature howled in victory, but its scream was cut short…

A great sword took its head, black blood geysered for a second as the dead shriek fell over.

Lis Cousland was there, yanking him to his feet.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty," she cried out.

Nothing that won't heal," he called back.

Lis roared a challenge; three of the beasts noticed and tried to surround her, the presence of a woman on the field filling them with a need to take her. Alistair noticed a female archer in similar straights, but the men were already coming to her aid.

The King's eyes narrowed.

He knew what the darkspawn had in mind for Lis and that girl.

He would be damned if he would let that happen.

Lis, however, did not seem to need his help. She brought down her great sword in a great sweeping arc, slicing one of the darkspawn from shoulder to hip bone.

The creature fell in half.

The two remaining tried to slip inside her guard, she kicked one in the knee, shattering bone, as it fell squealing, she bashed in its head with her great sword's pommel. The last remaining creature tried to back pedal but the youngest Cousland charged; she did not push the creature over. She ran him down like a siege engine. Bones broke as the armored juggernaut plowed the monster over, its cries cut short when her boot came down on its fanged mouth, splintering its jagged teeth.

Alistair shuddered.

 _The woman was not just a warrior._

 _She was a force of nature._

All around them the battle continued to turn in their favor. The spawn had had a slight advantage in numbers, but cohesiveness of the Fereldan's gave them a tactical advantage.

The darkspawn did not even try to fall back; they stood their ground, attacking savagely.

The monsters fell to their last.

The last to fall was a chubby genlock; it had been firing arrows near the back of the raiders. Alistair swept forward, blocking its attacks with his shield.

The creature threw down its bow, and tried to pull its curved daggers.

His blade took its head before they even left their sheaths.

The final blow was struck, the Fereldans stood in a rough defensive circle, listening, awaiting a new attack.

It never came.

The king looked down at his father's sword. Maric's old dragon bone blade had done more than even he had expected. The runes had harmed the darkspawn; he had seen the beasts flinch when his blade had met theirs. Then it had shattered several darkspawn weapons with a single strike.

He hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

He had recovered the weapon from Ostagar, but had never used it during the Blight.

It never seemed right, him wielding such a weapon. The tales said that Maric had freed Ferelden with this sword.

Having such a weapon in the hands of a bastard seemed…inappropriate.

Rich had insisted that he bring it, the dwarves loved their symbols. Seeing such a blade would

Alistair let out a pained breath. The wound in his side burned, it was not bad, he did not think. After some of the wounds he had suffered during the Blight, he had come to know when a wound was bad.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty?"

He turned to Lis, the woman's armor was stained with darkspawn blood, seat beaded her brow, but at the same time she looked exalted.

They had triumphed in this mission.

"I'm fine," he said with a grim smile, "One of the Shrieks caught me in the side, but it is not bad."

Lis' eyes widened as she kneeled down to inspect the blood leaking from beneath his breast plate.

"Healer," she cried out, "We need a healer here!"

Alistair started to protest, it would wait until they returned to camp, but the men and women who had accompanied him would not hear of it.

The healer they had summoned was from the Circle of Magi, one of Ambassador Petra's people.

"It is not bad," the king repeated.

The mage sniffed.

"Darkspawn wounds can be tricky, Your Majesty," the man replied, "The creatures like to taint their weapons with their own blood."

He gave the king a worried look.

"We have potions that fight the Blight sickness, you should take one."

Alistair snorted at that.

"I'm a Grey Warden, ser," he answered, "We are immune to the taint. That potion would be better spent elsewhere."

The man nodded, but still reached under the king's armor inspecting the wound, if it was not too deep it would keep until they returned to camp, if it was, he would use healing magic to stop the bleeding.

Alistair rolled his eyes.

He tried not to be annoyed at the man's attention. He remembered how protective the men had been around his brother Cailan.

He tried not to be angry for being treated like a well-cared for pet.

The man applied a poultice to help with the pain, when he was confident that the king was fine he left to attend to others who required his aid.

Alistair winced, he could feel the herbs working, but would likely feel the wound for the next several days.

Kallian would have laughed that the men here were making such a big deal out of such a small wound, just a scratch really.

After what they had endured during the Blight, such a wound was nothing.

He glanced up at Lis who was sitting on a large stone, cleaning her weapon.

"How did we do?" he asked.

"None of the monsters escaped, You Majesty," she replied, "We were lucky today; they had the advantage of high terrain, but did not use it."

Alistair nodded. The main difference between spawn now and spawn during the Blight, without the Archdemon to command them, they were mostly just animals now.

Elissa sighed.

"We did suffer casualties."

The King frowned.

"How many?"

"Two," she replied, "One of the men was struck in the eye by an arrow when the fight first started. A second was killed by one of those spindly creatures with the long ears."

"A shriek," Alistair growled, "Sneaky bastards."

"Indeed," Lis agreed.

Alistair shook his head.

Two dead, he thought, and all because he had wanted to feel like a warrior again

He felt the weight of those deaths on his conscience.

The king frowned.

Perhaps they should not have come out here after all.

Lis noticed that frown, and met it with one of her own.

"People die in battle, Your Majesty," she reminded him.

"Yes, but…"

Lis was on her feet towering over him.

"No," she said.

"No what?" he said.

The warrior woman frowned.

"Do not let the men see you are bothered."

He frowned.

"Should I not mourn the dead?"

"Of course, but in private, the men need to feel like they have won a great victory. The men who died here gave their lives for their king; do not cheapen their memory by making this battle seem unnecessary."

She leaned in close so that only he could hear.

"Remember this feeling," she said, "Remember what it feels like, so that you will not enter into what might be another pointless battle. Mourn those men, send their families your condolences, but for now remain strong."

Alistair digested what she was telling him. She was telling him to learn from this, and she was right.

Those men had died for their king, they were heroes.

They deserved to be treated as such.

As for this battle being pointless, was it? What if the spawn would have raided their camp, how many people might have died if the monsters had attacked in the night?

Two dead, in defense of many, it was not a perfect solution, but it was better than the alternative.

"Everyone," he called out loudly.

The soldiers around him all took notice; all eyes were now on him.

He tried not to sound nervous.

"The beasts are dead," he called out, "We have prevented them from striking at the innocent and the helpless.

He glanced over at the two fallen warriors, their allies prepping the bodies for the return to camp.

"These men gave their lives for Ferelden, for the innocent people we all serve. Honor them tonight! Toast their lives, and honor their sacrifice. They are the heroes of the hour."

The king raised his sword.

"Hail our victorious dead!"

For a moment he was afraid that the men were going to say nothing, they just stood there, but then one by one the men's swords went up, joining his, and with it, the warriors that had accompanied him took up the cry.

" **Hail our victorious dead!"**

" **Hail our victorious dead!"**

" **Hail!"**

" **Hail!"**

" **HAIL!"**

Lis Cousland caught his eye, the woman smiled slightly and nodded.

The king had done his duty tonight, not just the fighting, but the reassuring of the men afterward.

They would honor their fallen, and celebrate tonight, that was better than questioning their king's motive for coming up here.

Alistair smiled slightly.

It seemed that he had more to offer than a strong sword arm after all.

He had given his men hope.

And hope…could sometimes be the greatest weapon of all.


	46. Friendly Advice

**Chapter 46: Friendly Advice**

The royal entourage was in a celebratory mood as they began their final leg in the trip to Orzammar. The king and his warriors had returned to a hero's welcome for ending the threat of the darkspawn raiders. Now as they made their way up Gherlen's Pass no one could deny the sense of jubilance in the air.

King Alistair rode up front, leading the group. He smiled when spoken to, and acknowledged his victorious companions, but that was as far as his own jubilance went…

There was one in the party who was not pleased by what had happened, and now he had to figure out a way to fix it, and fast.

He glanced behind him. Bea rode close to her father and sister, ignoring him for the most part. She had been there when they had returned victorious from the attack on the darkspawn, to make sure he had returned unharmed, at least, he hoped that she had. After that, she had retreated from his presence, not avoiding him, but clearly she was giving him the cold shoulder.

He tried to catch her eyes, but she looked past him, again. She seemed to be focused only on the road ahead

The king winced when she did not even acknowledge his presence. He had never intended to anger her, but that is what had happened. He had won one battle it seemed, but now was in danger of losing another one, a much more important one.

He turned back to the road ahead.

 _What am I going to do now?_

Lady Cousland rode close by as the road up Gherlen's Pass narrowed. The warrior had impressed him during the fight with the darkspawn. He had seen more than his share of large fighters in his time, both in the Templars and in the Grey Wardens. Those men were strong, but rarely were they swift as well.

Elissa Cousland had been blessed with not only size, but strength and speed as well. Had Duncan, his old commander, visited Highever before the Blight it is more than likely that the Teyrn's daughter would have left as either a recruit or a conscript.

Duncan had always had to be leery though when it came to recruiting nobles. Lady Elissa, however, might have welcomed the challenge.

Such warriors were rare in this world. Duncan had understood that, but it was not her skills as a warrior that he needed right now.

Lady Cousland was also Bea's friend; she had insights into her friend's wants and desires.

Right now, that was more precious to him than gold.

"Lady Cousland," he called out.

The woman arched her brow.

"You may call me Lis, Your Majesty," she said with little emotion, "I'm no lady."

Alistair paused, Lady Cousland…Lis…had said those words with such…indifference. He could not help but wonder if she truly meant them, or had she simply said them so many times that they had become second nature. All his life he had tried to deny his noble blood, all he had ever wanted to be was a warrior, to stand on fight on no merits but his own.

He tried to imagine what the woman's childhood must have been like. The noble children could not have made it easy for her, she…

"Your Majesty?" she said with a frown.

Alistair almost cursed; he had allowed his musings to distract him.

"Yes," he said, "Um…ah…yes."

Lis looked over at him, from her expression you might have thought that he had baby dragons crawling out of his ears.

Say something fool, his conscience shouted.

Alistair coughed.

"How fare you Lady Cou…um…I mean Lis, any ill effects from our little squabble with the darkspawn."

The warrior shrugged.

"I suffered no injuries," she said with a bland expression on her face, "It was good to test my mettle against such a foe."

The king shrugged.

"I suppose you are right," he said.

The woman must have detected that there was more going on them him being concerned about her post-battle welfare.

How are you, Your Majesty," she asked, "suffering any ill effects?"

"Nope, all healed up," he said with a silly grin, "Physically, anyway."

The warrior woman nodded; perhaps she was reassured by his answer…

"And _mentally_ ," she inquired.

The king sighed.

…Or perhaps not.

"Mentally," he sighed, "That is a bit of a problem."

Lis lowered her voice so that the rest of their party would not hear them.

"Is this about the men we lost," she murmured, "If it is, then you should not blame yourself, we all went in to battle for our king, ready to die of needed be."

"It isn't about that," he said, "It…it is a bit more… _personal_. Not everyone was pleased with our victory I think."

Lis took a moment to digest that. Alistair wondered if she would understand what he was saying, especially since he was not sure he understood it all himself.

Bea had been a part of his life for only a short time, but quickly she was becoming a larger and larger part of it.

The warrior woman gave him a confused look, not that he blamed her, subtlety had never been his strong suit.

He sighed.

"This is about Bea," he blurted out, "I think I screwed up, and have no idea how to fix it."

Lis Cousland blinked. Alistair was not the best judge of people's reaction, but even he could tell that he had caught the warrior woman off guard.

"Umm," she stammered, "Uh…perhaps…um…perhaps I'm not the best person to discuss such matters with, your Majesty."

The King shrugged.

"I know that Bea _trusts_ you," he added, "I know that you two spend a great deal of time together."

The warrior woman gave him a chagrinned look.

"Most of the time I'm just following her around," she admitted, "Or standing watch."

"True," he said, "And during those times, you must have seen something that might have given you a clue on how I could…fix this. She is angry with me, and I don't like it."

He gave her an almost suffering look. He was hoping that he did not look as pathetic as he sounded, but in this moment he did not care.

He had to know how to fix this. Nothing he had experience with Kallian had given him any kind of idea of how to deal with an angry noble woman. When Kallian was angry with him, the call of battle would force them into a position where they would have to work through their difference and fast.

What he had with Bea was totally different. The threat of death was not hanging over them so they had no common cause to draw them back together. He did not have the slightest idea how to get back in her good graces…

…In other words, he was desperate.

All he could hope was that he did not sound like a complete and utter fool and beggar.

"Please, Milady, Anything you could tell me would be appreciated, anything at all."

He almost whimpered.

"Please."

IOI

Lis Cousland was rendered almost speechless. The king's…openness had shocked her, that and how…vulnerable he sounded in this moment.

The king was no weakling, she knew that from what she had seen during their battle with the darkspawn, to see him like this, coming to her for answers in dealing with Bea, it was very telling…

…And…endearing.

She was starting to see why her friend had grown so fond of His Majesty. She had mentioned once that the king possessed what she liked to call "puppy dog" eyes. Lis had not really understood what that meant, until now.

She licked her lips.

In a way, the king reminded her a bit of a Mabari warhound, fierce in battle, but gentle as a dove to people he cared about. Beneath the hard exterior beat the heart of a gentle man, a man who wanted to be loved, not just as king, but as a man.

Lis was not sure how to react to that.

She swallowed hard.

Her own experience with men was… _limited_. She knew that she could be intimidating; men in general did not find a woman such as herself, attractive. Bea was strong in her own way, but her beauty drew men in, making them at least thing that she needed their protection.

Lis…had never had that.

For a brief moment she felt a little jealous. The fact that Bea had ensnared such a strong yet good man was…frustrating. It made her think back to all those conversations she had had with her mother over the years. Eleanor Cousland had worried for her daughter. She had been afraid that she would never find someone to share her life with.

Back then, Lis had not been bothered by that. She had been a warrior, and that had suited her.

The men in her life did not see her as object of pursuit. She was a friend, a comrade in arms, and a drinking partner. The few men that she had been interested in had not been interested her in, not in **that** way.

Being a part of her family had eased that pain. She had gotten to experience the love of a child by caring for Fergus' son Oren. She found herself thinking back to when the boy was little, lifting him up on her shoulders as he squealed with delight.

 _Spin me Auntie! Spin me!_

She… could almost still here his giggles.

He had loved his Auntie Lis. He…

She remembered seeing Oren lying on the floor next to his mother, his body looking like some broken toy flung to the ground by some giant. His chest pierced by a longsword…

She winced.

Lis had lost everything when Howe had destroyed her family. Now she was truly _alone_. Fergus blamed her for the death of the others, probably hated her. Bea had been kind enough to try and help her, offering her a place in House Glass…

…but that did not change the truth.

She was still an outsider, and she always would be.

She took a shuddering breath.

She was still alone.

Still, that was not Bea's fault. It was the card she had been dealt in this life. She had an outlet for her anger in battle, but was that enough?

She could no longer say.

She sighed.

She owed Bridget Glass a lot; the least she could do was try and help her. Help her and King Alistair get past this stumbling block that was currently in their path.

Did they not deserve a little happiness in their lives?

Was it not her duty to help her friend?"

She glanced at the King.

The least she could was try, and hope she did not screw everything up.

"Bea is not angry with you, Your Majesty. She was frightened that you put yourself at risk."

The king shook his head.

"It wasn't a risk that I had not taken before."

"Yes, but this was the first time that Bea was there to see it. It is not an easy thing watching someone you care about ride off into harm's way. I know. I had to watch my brother ride off during the Blight, and…"

She paused.

The old pain and guilt came screaming back.

 _She had not saved her family. She had been left in charge of Highever Castle and it had fallen._

 _She had not saved anyone._

She shook her head, trying to push away such dark thoughts; they would not help her here. She was trying to help the king. She was trying to help Bea.

She could not do that if she was focused solely on herself.

She shook her head.

"I wish I could tell you something that would make her realize how lucky she is."

Alistair snorted.

"Because she has caught the king's attention?" he asked bitterly. Any noble would have given him that answer she realized, that Bea should be grateful to have had the king's attention, and that jeopardizing it was foolish.

He did not need or want to hear that, she knew that.

He needed the truth.

"No," Lis replied, "Because she has caught **your** attention. I saw you out there, Your Majesty. You're a skilled warrior, but that is not all. You care about the people under you. You care about this country and making it strong again. Such rulers are not easily found, and when they are, they rarely have the support of the people, but you do."

IOI

Alistair blinked, he…he was not sure how best to reply to that.

He…he…

Oh Maker.

It had gotten easy for him to play the whole royal thing, because that it is what it felt like a role. He did what was expected of him, because that is what was needed. Kallian had given her life so that he could do this, so that he could keep Ferelden together after the Blight and Loghain had almost torn it apart.

He had gotten so used to people telling him what they thought he needed to hear, propping up the king so to speak, feeding his ego. Having Lis speak so openly with him, it was surprising, but refreshing as well.

He gave her a sheepish look.

"So…um…what do you think I should do? With Bea I mean."

Lis Cousland sighed.

"I'm not the best person to ask about relationships," she sighed, "I have little…experience with such matters. All I can do is repeat what my father told my brother several times after he had first gotten married."

Lis blinked. Alistair might have been wrong, but he thought he might have seen tears shining in her eyes.

She wiped her face with her gauntlet.

"Even the highest lord has to bow to his lady sometimes," she said, "Sometimes he must be willing to swallow his pride, for the good of what they have. Even if he knew what he had done is right, he must be prepared to apologize for it, at least to open up the door for explanation later."

Alistair seemed to consider this.

"You are saying that I should crawl back to her and beg her forgiveness?"

Lis almost smirked.

"I would not go that far, Your Majesty."

"But it couldn't hurt?"

Lis shook her head.

The king was definitely **not** like other nobles she had known.

"I suppose not," she agreed, "but some flowers, a small gift, and an 'I'm sorry I scared you' might go a long way in rebuilding the bridge you two were building."

The warrior shrugged.

"It is just a thought," she added, "Hopefully it will help."

The warrior noticed one of the scouts up ahead had slowed, with a slight frown she rode up to meet him, leaving the king with his thoughts.

He knew what Eamon would likely say, that the king should always be strong, and that he should not show weakness even around his greatest allies.

Alistair frowned.

That was not the kind of king he wanted to be.

He glanced back at Bea again; she was in close conversation with her father and did not acknowledge him.

He sighed.

Even the highest lord should be prepared to bow to his lady sometimes.

It was not something that most monarchs or warriors would do, or at least admit that they would do.

It was however, what he was prepared to do.

The king mustered his courage. He would do this.

And he would live with the consequences.

Maker…give me strength.


	47. Terrifyingly Wonderful

**Chapter 47: Terrifyingly Wonderful**

"This cannot stand, Sweetheart."

Bea winced. She could feel her father's disapproving gaze, even as she kept her eyes on the road in front of them. She was riding next to Papa and Em, as the royal entourage entered its final leg on its journey to Orzammar.

Normally she would've been enjoying the journey, the crisp mountain air, the celebratory mood of their companions; it had been a long time since she had been on any such outing. She did not really count her trip to the Hinterlands and Highever, those had been business trips.

This…this promised to be something more or it would have.

Had she only not reacted the way she had.

The scholar looked up as the front of their caravan. She could see Lis speaking with Alistair, what was passing between them, she could not guess.

Worry burrowed into her gut.

Perhaps he is venting his anger, perhaps he is giving her friend a message for her, telling her to leave the capital and never return…

The thought brought a shiver down her spine.

 _The king was not that petty; at least she hoped that he wasn't. If he let what they were exploring right now because of a misjudgment on her part then…_

… _but_ _ **was**_ _it a misjudgment?_

"You cannot remain angry at him," her father said.

""I'm not angry, Papa," she replied.

He snorted at that.

"I've seen that look before," he said shaking his head, "It is the same look that your mother, Maker rest her soul, used to give me when she was "not angry" with me."

The Arl sighed.

"I slept many a night in my study when she was "not angry" with me."

He shook his head.

"You realize that everything we have now is because of our closeness to the king. We cannot jeopardize that Sweetheart. We can **not.** "

Bea winced.

She had thought of that, yes, but once again she thought, she hoped that Alistair was not that petty, that he would not take out any personal problems on her family.

She hoped he wouldn't anyway, he did not seem like the type, not to her.

She gave her father a pained look.

Maker, she thought, please let him understand that this is not just about our family, that…that…

She swallowed.

It was about something so much bigger.

Surprisingly, Margaret, who seemed more or less of one mind with her father these days, came to her rescue.

"Leave her be, Papa," she said.

He looked at his eldest daughter.

"Darling," he said to her, "Surely, you don't think that your sister should jeopardize everything we have worked so long and hard for, not over a small spat like this?!"

Em smiled at her sister.

"This…spat as you call it, may actually work to our advantage," the elder Glass sister said.

The Arl paused, perhaps trying to make sense of that.

Finally, he frowned and looked at Margaret.

"Explain," he requested.

Em once again gave her sister a sly smile.

Bea winced under it.

"Our little Bea is not some doe-eyed innocent, Papa," she reminded him, "She survived in the social circles of Orlais. She knows the value of playing with a man's heart, even a king's.

Arl Glass' eyes narrowed. He brought his horse closer to his eldest daughter's.

He frowned.

"This is not the kind of situation to be playing games during," he whispered.

"On the contrary," she said, "This is the perfect time for a little game."

She glanced up at the king.

"Do you remember the lake house you took us to when we were children? The one your one ally owned?"

Arl Glass nodded.

"I remember one of the old fishermen there telling us that you could not simply drag the largest catch of the day out of the water like it was nothing. You had to wear it down a bit first; you had to play it, until it lost its will to resist. The wisest fisherman knew that, and by conquering his prey he made the hunt far more satisfying."

She once again glanced at Bea.

"My little sister cannot be making the king's hunt too easy. He may grow bored with such an easy pursuit. Plus unlike the fish, our king will appreciate his final victory if it comes with a few obstacles in the way. It will make his final victory that much sweeter."

Bea blinked at that.

"Why do you think the king would win in such a pursuit?" she asked.

Arl Glass' eyes widened, no doubt he could not believe that his daughter would ask such a question.

Em was more realistic.

Because sister, she said, "Eventually, all lovers ant to be conquered, and to be the conquerors. That is the delicate dance between man and woman is it not, and besides."

Margaret laughed.

"I think you would find it…interesting being in the king's power, my sister."

Bea did not respond to that.

Their father glanced back and forth between his daughters, considering what had been said.

Finally he nodded, accepting, Em's version of events. Perhaps he even believed them.

For Bea, it was not so cut and dried; it was a bit…more complicated.

IOI

When Alistair had returned victorious from his attack on the darkspawn she had rushed out to meet him with everyone else. Relief had flooded her heart as the worry she had felt washed away. When she saw him, her heart leapt, her stomach fluttered twisting into happy knots.

When she had seen him approach, it had been all she could do to keep from leaping into his arms, welcoming him back with all her heart and soul.

It was then that she had seen the bandage across his waist, and the bodies of the two warriors slain in the attack.

It was in that moment that she realized, truly realized what might have happened. Had they all returned she might have been able to deny it, at least for a time, but that had not happened, this was real.

He could have died.

Alistair could have died, and it would have destroyed her world.

She believed that.

His death would have destroyed her.

The mere thought had made her take flight, yet again.

She could not help it.

The shock was too great.

She had retreated back into her mind, as she often did when threatened with something she did not understand and could not quantify.

Growing up, she had set several goals for herself; goals that she believed were in reach for a girl of her stature and intelligence. Being minor nobility did open some doors after all.

She had always believed that she would become a professor, which was an attainable goal for one who was properly motivated at the University of Orlais. Her mind and research would make that possible. She still had to be careful of course, jealous rival were a threat even at the University, but she believed herself capable of avoiding their traps. As Em said, she was hardly a doe-eyed innocent.

On matter of family, she had expected to marry eventually, perhaps some minor lord who shared her interests. They would make a fair match, and his family connections would allow her to reach more enlightened people then she could on her own. She would give him children of course, in time, for no other reason than to show that she was a dutiful wife and worthy companion.

Once…she had thought that that husband would have been Rene. He had ensnared her with his honeyed words, but at the same time she had never lost control, she had always known who she was, and kept her mind on her goals.

His discarding her had hurt, but she had not shattered to pieces. Her plans remained intact, and they brought her solace while she healed from Rene's rejection. She retreated into her work, planning to be the best scholar that she could be.

Then…she had met Alistair, and all that had changed.

Bea pursed her lips.

What she felt for Alistair was so much…stronger than what she had felt for Rene, and the fact that he was a king on top of that, that her family had chosen to ride her fortunes to their own.

That changed everything, absolutely everything.

If she and Alistair took their…whatever this was to the next level. It would put her into a place she had never really thought of before.

Sharing herself with a king would change her entire world, and by entering that world, she would change everyone else's as well.

What if they married?

What…what if they had children?!

That…that would make her Queen wouldn't it? QUEEN! Her children would princesses and princes.

She tried to imagine herself sitting beside Alistair, he on the high throne, and she on the smaller one next to his, the Queen's throne.

If she did that, all her plans for her life would be gone, obliterated in an instant.

How could she take that chance?

How could she even dare?!

She shook her head.

She had not lied to her father. She wasn't angry at Alistair. If anything she was angry at herself. She was angry at letting go, that she was even considering diving completely into these unknown waters, that she knew without a doubt were full of predators.

It was a foolish notion.

She should have been ashamed of herself for even having it, but at the same time…

Another part of herself had begun to take shape, it had been born during that first dinner with Alistair, and it was slowly gaining strength.

It was this part that spoke to her now.

 _You have every right to be scared,_ that voice said, _but at the same time you should not reject what you have with Alistair out of hand._

She winced, but the voice did not fall silent.

 _These are unfamiliar waters, that is true, but since when have you been afraid of the unknown? There are rewards to be gained, not just the rewards that your father and family would claim._

 _If you claim Alistair for your own, he will be yours. He will be someone to share your triumphs with, and to hold you when you fail. If a minor lord's connections would please you, just imagine what a king's could do, if your work helps Ferelden at all, your name will be remembered for a time, but if you take your place at the king's side._

Your name will be carved onto the stone, forever.

She swallowed hard.

It was a scary thought.

Not that she would be remembered, but that she had the power to make the king hers. It was a terrifying thought.

A terrifyingly wonderful thought.

Alistair glanced back at her again, but this time she did not ignore him, and she did not look away.

She saw the concern and worry in those sweet puppy dog eyes of his.

Those eyes many her stomach flutter nervously, her body warmed, and she blushed slightly.

She managed a slight smile, and was rewarded, if she was not mistaken, but a slight blush from the king as well…

…Which made her feel even warmer, her heart skipped excitedly.

For so long after Rene, she had lived entirely in her head. It was a little scary letting her heart have a little sway.

It was at that moment that the captain of the king's guard called the entourage to a halt. They stood before a massive stone square. Large dwarven statues holding hammers over their heads towered above them. Even being weathered by the wind and the rain did little to take away their grandeur.

Around the tiny square was a small but lucrative looking marketplace, dwarven traders stood by their carts waiting to gain access through the large metal gates cut deep into the mountain itself.

Bea's breath caught in her throat.

They had reached the doors of Orzammar.

The king and his bodyguards dismounted first. They were followed closely, by the members of the court that had accompanied them; Wilbur Rich taking his place at the King's left.

Alistair paused, he looked over his shoulder his warm eyes pinning her in place. He looked more than a little worried himself, though she was not sure why.

He raised his hand, and motioned her to come forward.

Her heart fluttered as she dismounted, her father and Em right behind her, as the entourage parted, letting her and her family pass.

Lis dismounted and took her place at Bea's side. Some might think it a slight to the Arl of Denerim, but Arl Glass did not.

Bea had brought the Couslands to their side. He was not surprised that the Teyrn's sister chose to protect her first, and besides, he had brought his own guard.

Bea reached the king's side. The two of them refused to meet each other's eyes for a moment.

When they did finally look up, they were both nervous.

When they spoke it was at the same time.

"I'm sorry," they both murmured.

Those words brought them both up short.

Alistair looked away nervously, while Bea giggled. It took them a few moments to regain their composure.

Once they did, they both looked up at the closed doors. Five dwarven soldiers stood at the entrance, awaiting someone to approach.

The King and the scholar both took deep breaths, and locked arms.

The time had finally come.

They went together flanked by their advisors, family and bodyguards.

They approached the gates of the city of the sovereign dwarven kings.

On the journey up, they had been worlds apart, now they would enter the world of the dwarves as one.

They would enter that world…

…Together.


	48. Dwarven Business

**Chapter 48: Dwarven Business**

He could feel her heart through their hands.

That was how excited Bea was. As they stepped through the gates and made their way down to the Dwarven Hall of Heroes, Bea gripped Alistair's hand even tighter. The excitement of entering this new world had entranced her. She clung to him tightly, perhaps for reassurance that this was all real.

That was something that Alistair did not doubt, the pressure on his arm and hand was all the evidence he needed.

He fought the urge to chuckle.

If it continued, it might lead to discomfort, but for now he welcomed the pressure, that and the fact that she pulled even tighter to him as they entered the hall.

The king smiled slightly.

The girl was positively glowing, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes flashed, and her breath came in excited gasps. Few humans were invited into Orzammar, and even then their journey through the city was often restricted to the commons. As a Grey Warden, Alistair had seen all there was to see of dwarven city. From the Diamond Quarter to Dust Town he and Kallian had journeyed in their attempt to bring the dwarves onto their side against the Archdemon.

Strangely enough, thinking of Kallian and walking these halls again did not cause the pain that the king thought it would. Watching Bea's reaction to the paragon statues, looking at the lava vents used to light the great chamber. These experience all felt new to him thanks to his gently trembling company.

She caught him glancing at her, a look that was both warm and shy at the same time. She looked away quickly, blushing brightly. It was such a small thing, that blush, but it only made his own heart beat a little faster. Seeing Bea like this, alight with discovery, free of work and the stresses of life in the capital was quite pleasing, and…more than a little…arousing.

He found himself thinking back to those dreams he had had about her, about their chases through the palace, about cornering her in the throne room where she finally surrendered to both him and her own passions. Dreams they might have been, but they were also hopes, hopes he had for the future.

His throat suddenly felt very dry, he tried to hold back his own shiver.

Was it hot in here? Well, sure they did use molten rock for heating, but…?

He shook his head.

Maker's breath, he thought.

I'm in serious trouble, but it is trouble that I wouldn't dream of trying to escape.

He smiled again.

Some trouble was worth getting into.

Seeing her like this, so flushed and vulnerable, it was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms and kissing her. Doing so in the middle of the royal entourage was not the most…convenient thing that he could do.

He licked his lips.

There would be time for that later, he hoped, for now he needed to keep his wits about him. This might have been a social visit, but only a fool entered Orzammar without keeping watch for some kind of trouble.

The king did not expect trouble, but that did not mean that he was not smart enough to expect it, though he and Kallian had left Orzammar in victory the last time that did not mean that they had not made enemies, enemies that would not quickly forget the wardens' role in their defeat.

Dwarves, he had learned the last time he was here, had very long memories, and a capacity to hold grudges for a very long time.

It was best to remember that.

IOI

Before this trip even began he had had Wilbur Rich reach out to his contacts in the dwarven merchant's guild. The King had wanted to know what kind of reception was awaiting them in Orzammar. King Bhelen might have extended the invitation, but that did not mean that everyone was happy about it.

He told the secretary about Lord Pyral Harrowmont, and how Kallian had played both him and King Bhelen against each other. Kallian had not been willing to support either dwarven lord completely, her distrust of nobles in general meant that she had chosen to keep one foot firmly planted in both camps. In had drove Alistair insane when he had learned of it.

Kallian had done her best to explain.

"I don't see any honor in Bhelen, Alistair," she had said over dinner at tapster's one night, she raised the sword, inspecting the imperfections in the steel, and then quickly returned to her work.

"But at the same time," she continued, "I don't see much honor in Harrowmont, either. If he wanted the throne so badly he would not be trying to play us against his enemies."

The elf had shaken her head.

"I'm starting to see why wardens stay out of politics. Help one, you piss off the other. The only way we have any chance of getting what we need out of this place is by playing both sides against the middle, help Bhelen and Harrowmont both, at least until we are in a position to maneuver one or the other onto the throne."

Alistair had looked at her like she had gone crazy. They had not been lovers yet, but he had already come to respect her a great deal.

Her plan for the dwarves had shaken that respect.

Kallian must have sensed that by the look on his face. She frowned severely.

"We need the aid of the dwarves, Alistair," she had reminded him, "Which means that we need the aid of the leader who will give us the most. Until we know which one that is, we need to keep our options open.

Kallian had done just that, she had championed Harrowmont in the proving, but let his kinsmen sit out. When it was over, she had gone to Vartag Gavorn, Bhelen's second, and offered to spy on Harrowmont for him. When she took down Jarvia and the Carta for Harrowmont, she left papers that would weaken him and keep Bhelen in the title hunt.

So many deceptions, he thought, but in the end, it was welfare of others that made her choice for her.

Kallian had been sickened by the area of Orzammar called dust town. The squalor she saw there was worse than any Alienage. When she asked Harrowmont about it, he was content to let the casteless dwarves who dwelled there remain as they always had, as tradition demanded.

Bhelen had been more proactive. He saw the casteless as a resource that he could use. He allowed the poor of dust town to enter the dwarven army; several had fought with distinction during the Siege of Denerim. Bhelen's trust in them had been justified, as had Kallian's trust in him.

She had given him the crown because he had promised to help the casteless. For that reason, Bhelen had become his allies, but that did not mean that Alistair trusted him, blessed Andraste no.

Bhelen might have helped the casteless, but he was ruthless to his enemies in the diamond quarter. There were as many dwarves calling him tyrant, as there were calling him king and hero.

Rich's contacts had confirmed that Alistair was right to be cautious.

Bhelen was apparently rewriting dwarven history. According to Rich's contacts among the merchants the new history mentioned only in passing the warden's contribution to him taking the throne.

Alistair did not mind that, he had no desire to be seen as a kingmaker, but at the same time, his journey to Orzammar might remind people of issues that others might wish forgotten, for that reason alone, they had to be careful.

Plus there were still nobles in Orzammar who still secretly carried Harrowmont's banner. These noble might try to punish Alistair for his role in the death of the one they thought should have been king.

Mister Rich had promised to look into it. He told the king that he need not worry. Anything the dwarves had to throw at them, he would be ready.

"Fear not, Your Majesty," he had said with that oily smile of his, "dwarven nobles might be smart, but I…"

His smile widened.

"I…am smarter."

IOI

Bea was trying very hard to keep the scholar in her in check.

A botanist she might have been, but her studies were varied enough that she found everything about Orzammar more than interesting.

When they first stepped into the commons, she felt as if she had entered another world. The city itself was massive, tiers going both up and down. Above them the lights of the Diamond Quarter sparkled, as the sound of the distant mines echoed from the lower levels.

All around them, dwarves stopped to gawk at the party of humans in their midst. It likely wasn't the first time that strangers had come to Orzammar, but it was probably far from a common thing.

Most of the courtiers who had accompanied them down here stayed close to their king. His Majesty was likely the only here who had spent any time in the dwarven city. One or two of the nobles might have accompanied King Maric when he visited here years ago, but with the Civil War and Blight few of the nobles from those heady days remained. Most who had made this journey were new men, elevated by the deaths of family members, or elevation through loyal service to the crown.

One of their party drew more attention than the others. Bann Shianni had been unable to attend the royal court on this journey. Some issues had popped up in the Denerim Alienage that had required her attention; still the ruler of the Alienages had thought it best that her people's interests be tended to during the Orzammar visit. Not wishing to trust just anybody, the Bann had turned to family, whether he liked it or not.

The scholar smiled.

The Bann had chosen her cousin Soris to accompany the king on this journey. The young elf with the dark brown spikey hair looked extremely out of place among so many human nobles. According to Shianni, Soris had tried to rescue her and her cousin Kallian when Vaughan Kendals, the late Arl of Denerim's son had kidnapped the two women, and dragged them back to his estate.

That rescue had resulted in the death of Vaughan, and the recruitment of their cousin Kallian into the Grey Wardens, an event that had likely saved their world. Soris should have been declared a hero for his bravery in keeping the future Hero of Ferelden safe.

Not that he looked like much of a hero at the moment, the poor boy tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his noble coat. Any little sound caused him to look nervously at the ceiling high above them. Most of the other nobles looked at the young elf with disdain; he did not fit in well with noble company.

Bea hated to admit it, but Em was worse than any of her fellow nobles, always with some hurtful remark to this noble or that, behind the young elf's back.

Occasionally when she did catch his eye, she would look away and pretend to ignore him. Bea hoped that Soris did not know what her sister was saying about him, she counted the elves of Denerim among her staunchest allies.

She had no desire to alienate them.

As they stepped into the market place off the commons they were met by a company of royal guards. The dwarf leading them was a shifty type with short dark hair, and the barest scruff of a beard.

He introduced himself as Vartag Gavorn, second to good King Bhelen. The king of the dwarves had sent the man with his sincerest apologies, several threats had been made against the king's life recently, and his advisors thought it best he remain in the palace.

If Alistair was insulted, he did not show it. He smiled down at Gavorn and asked him to lead the way to the Diamond Quarter. The dwarven noble bowed respectfully and led the way, promising to answer any questions that the visiting human nobles might have.

Had the man known that he had a scholar accompanying him, he might not have made such an offer so flippantly.

Bea asked him man questions. Gavorn quickly must have realized that he was speaking with more than simply a curious noble woman. He might have not been so willing to answer had she not been introduced as King Alistair's companion.

Bea had snorted at the word.

At least it was better than whore or concubine.

After what might have been her fourteenth question about this paragon or that, Gavorn had looked at Alistair and chuckled.

"Your woman is quite bright, Your Majesty," he said with a smirk, "Most noblemen would not know what to make of that."

Alistair chuckled in reply.

"I've known men that would not want to be with someone who is so much smarter than they," the king said, "Personally, I've come to see the value in it."

He gave Bea's hand a warm squeeze.

"In fact I would not have it any other way."

Bea fell silent again, blushing under the king's regard.

It seemed that he had found one way to silence her many questions.

She returned her attention to the market place around them. She was surprised by the large number of dwarven troops marching throughout the commons. She had not realized that Orzammar had such a large standing army.

Alistair had noticed the same thing, and inquired Gavorn about the matter.

The king's second shrugged.

"We have finally managed to go on the offense again, Your Majesty," he said, "The troops that returned from the surface received a great deal of seasoning in dealing with the Archdemon's horde. Now we move to reclaim the thaigs nearest to Orzammar."

Gavorn beamed with pride.

"Orzammar is finally ready to start reclaiming her empire, soon we shall…"

There was a loud scuffle up ahead, the royal party halted.

Bea could not see what had happened, there were too many people in the way, but she did notice company of dwarven guardsmen dragging away several men in noble dress.

To her right, Gavorn's eyes narrowed.

Clearly something had happened that the man had not wanted them to see or hear about.

Wilbur Rich stepped up to the man and leaned down to speak with him in a whisper. The dwarven noble nodded, and as the secretary retreated, he smiled brightly again.

"This way, my lords and ladies," he said jovially, "My king has had a feast prepared in your honor."

The man beamed.

"I do hope you have all brought your appetites.

Some of the nobles chuckled as Gavorn led the way.

Bea's brow furrowed.

She glanced over at the secretary.

Rich merely shrugged, and mouthed a single word.

Later.

She did not see the man again until much later. She and Alistair had been speaking with the noble lord of House Dace when Wilbur returned with Vartag Gavorn at his side. The secretary seemed more than pleased with himself.

Bea gave her ally a curious look.

Rich gave her that oily smile of his.

"Nothing to worry about Milady," he said trying to reassure her, "Dwarven business, nothing more."

Bea pursed her lips.

She noticed Rich looking down at the hem of his long coat, frowning slightly.

She looked down as well.

She had a hard time holding her tongue.

She did not think it her imagination, but hoped it was.

Tiny red stains marred the fabric of the secretary's coat.

She winced slightly.

She had a feeling that those stains were not from the sauce used on the roast nug.

Bea pulled closer to Alistair, who welcomed her presence there, he smiled down at her.

She smiled back.

She tried to push any bad thoughts out of her head. What the secretary did was for the good of the crown, she needed to remember that.

Still…she frowned at those stains.

Dwarven business he had said.

She shuddered.

Deadly business more like it.


	49. Awkward

**Chapter 49: Awkward**

"Couldn't His Majesty have chosen a more… _pretty_ plant?"

Bea rolled her eyes and looked up from her work. She should have realized that her sister would never understand. Alistair's gift was more than just some plant; it would be invaluable to her work.

The scholar smiled to herself.

It was a most thoughtful gift, from a very thoughtful man.

She had woken that morning, surprised to find a dwarven page standing before her door, in his hands he held a small potted planted. It had taken Bea only a few moments to identify what it was.

The realization made her smile.

"From His Majesty, Alistair Theirin," the page had said, "For the Lady Bridget Glass."

"Thank you," she had purred, taking the little treasure from his hands, ""And please give my thanks to His Majesty."

The dwarf nodded, pleased to be rid of his burden, not that Bea blamed him, the plant neither looked nice, or smelled enticing. Of course that was not surprising considering its place of origin.

The deep roads were not a place for beauty.

During one of their dinners back in Denerim, Bea had suggested to the king that she was interested in acquiring a sample of deep mushroom from one of the main sections of the deep roads. The plants that grew in mountain caves and near the mouths of deep road's entrances were good, but were lacking in the fact that they had at least some exposure to the surface.

The ones growing underground had been forced to adapt to the taint. The darkspawn had made those tunnels their own. Anything that survived down there had needed to adapt to such a poisonous environment. She had hoped that studying that adaptation would be a boon to her work.

If this little thing could survive darkspawn and tainted animals moving over it, then why couldn't plants on the surface?

Its ugliness showed the length it had gone to survive. That survival had made it more than precious.

She had to agree with her sister, the deep mushroom was not a pretty plant, but in it might hold the key to what she was trying to do.

She had high hopes for the plants in the Hinterlands, but if they failed, this little thing might hold the key to success.

She examined the deep mushroom closely, its stem and caps seemed clear of the taint, but she recognized the colored blotches on it from her plants back in her lab in Denerim. The specimen did not appear rotted in anyway, and seemed to have been extracted intact from its place in the deep roads.

How had Alistair accomplished this? It was a great accomplishment. Most deep mushrooms that came out of the deep roads needed to be dried and preserved quickly. Whoever had acquired this had had at least some skill in botany. She made a point to ask him about it later, after she thanked him of course.

She smiled warmly.

Above all else, it pleased her that he had remembered; she was used to people ignoring her when she started talking about her work. The fact that he had paid attention, and found her what she wanted…that was pleasing.

…And quite intriguing.

She glanced up again at the tiny plant. Alistair had cared enough to have it acquired for her, such sweet attentiveness needed to be rewarded.

She would have to think up something she could do for him later. Em would have suggestions on that point no doubt, the type of suggestions that would no doubt make her blush.

She tried not to think about that, but that did not stop her imagination from running.

Thoughts…that made her body warm.

Em paced back and forth behind her, given the size of the Royal Entourage, it had become necessary for most of the nobles to double up. Bea and Margaret were natural roomies, considering the fact that they had grown up together. Her sister had grown more…nervous since their arrival, but had for the moment, had confided nothing in her sister. She thought it might have to do with being so deep underground and in close quarters. Alistair did not have to worry about that. The King had room to himself of course, but that was to be expected…

He was the king after all.

The two women were currently in one of the guest rooms of the royal palace, two doors down from the king's. For three days now they had been in Orzammar, being feasted and honoring the brave men and women who had given their lives to end the Blight, human, elven, and dwarven.

Since their arrival, Bea had rarely left Alistair's side. Rich had told her that it was expected for the king to be accompanied by a companion. The dwarves expected it. When they had met King Bhelen, the dwarven monarch had had his own woman at his side. She had introduced herself as Rica, the mother to the king's son.

Bea had spent yesterday afternoon with the king's companion. Rica, she had discovered, was lowborn, taken from the streets of Dust town. The dwarven girl did not seem to mind her station here in the palace. Concubine here was not the dirty word it was in Denerim apparently. In Orzammar she had informed her guest, Bhelen needed to keep his options open, a royal marriage would strengthen his claim to the throne. Any union like that would be about a matter of inheritance, not love. Her Bhelen had taken her to his bed out of love. They had conceived a child together out of love.

That was something that no noble wife could take from her.

Bea had been impressed with the girl's strength and honesty. She genuinely seemed to be a good person.

She frowned slightly.

She wished that she could see the dwarven king in the same light.

Bhelen had been the picture of noble manners when they had been introduced. He had kissed her hand and treated her like she was more than mere nobility. He had been more than kind, but she sensed there was more to the man than kindness.

Bea did not like to judge someone by their first meeting, but in this case she could not help it. She had tried not to shudder when Bhelen had kissed her hand.

The man's manner seemed more like some poisonous reptile, than a king.

He seemed…oily, like his smile and manners was more a mask than his real emotions. Considering the tales that Alistair had told her about the man before she had left Denerim, she knew that that feeling was more than simple meeting-a-royal jitters.

Mister Rich had also warned her to be careful around the dwarven king. They were allies, for now, but if there ever came a time that it would be the dwarf's interest to betray them, he would do it was barely a second thought.

Bhelen's father and brothers had all died under mysterious circumstances, circumstances that had benefited him above all others.

It was for the best that she never forgot that.

As for her own king, Alistair kept her close to his side. Orzammar could be a rough place, and he preferred to protect her from that. Some women might have felt smothered by all the attention, but Bea had come to enjoy it. In Denerim they were always both so busy.

It was nice to have some time to themselves.

She had tried to avoid work on this trip, though she had received a letter from Talia, it had arrived by raven this morning. The plants they had brought to the Hinterlands seemed to have taken to the tainted soil, a few first generations had died when exposed to such a pure form of the tainted soil, and some others had died following a surprise cold snap the night before, but for the most part, they seemed to be surviving.

According to the tranquil, there had been little or no trouble; occasionally they had received visits from the various nobles who had once ruled the region. Most had wanted to know what exactly the little party was doing with their tents and glow crystals. They had received visitors from as far north as Amaranthine. Her agents had asked many questions of Talia and the guards left behind to protect her.

Bann Lorelei seemed especially interested in her work.

Bea decided to make mention of it the next time she spoke to the ruler of the port city. Lorelei had not struck her as much of a botanist.

The nobles were to be expected, her work would benefit them the most if the Hinterlands could be made fertile again, but they were not the only visitors that Talia and her party had seen, though these were not interested in speaking openly with the king's men.

A party of Dalish hunters had been observed watching them from the hills to the south. It was not surprising considering that the elven wanderers had been gifted the lands around Ostagar. Humans working in the Hinterlands would be more than enough reason for the elves to send scouts to observe.

Alistair had already sent them a letter of course, but given the feelings some of the keepers had about humans, it was to be expected that they would be watched.

Em had given her sister a worried look when she had heard that news.

"Would the Dalish destroy your plants?" she inquired, "Would they try and stop your work?"

Bea had shaken her head at that.

"I do not see why," she said, "If my plants work, all will benefit from their presence. Maker knows; I would willingly give some to the Dalish if they wanted my help."

Margaret had frowned when she heard that.

"You are far too generous sister," she had said, "If your plans succeed, you will have created a commodity that many would pay any price for."

Her older sister sighed.

"Such altruism as yours will not win you many friends at court."

Bea had rolled her eyes at that.

Her work was not about profit.

It was about helping people, and enlightening all of Thedas. Others would not be so noble she knew, but considering how much the darkspawn had taken from Ferelden…

Wasn't a little Andrastian charity refreshing? Wasn't ridding the world of the taint more important that gold?

She liked to think so.

Once again she looked up from her work, Margaret was still pacing, her brow furrowed in thought.

Bea unable to restrain her curiosity anymore finally spoke up.

"What," she asked.

"It is nothing."

"Obviously, it is not," the scholar said, "What?"

Em stopped before her sister, she worried her lower lip with her teeth, a sure sign that she was nervous about something.

Her older sister sighed.

"The proving is today, yes?" she inquired.

"So I've heard," Bea responded.

"I'm told the matches are quite intense."

"I've heard that as well," Bea said going back to her papers, "Sometimes they have gone "to the death," but that only happens when one of the Dwarven Houses needs to settle a grudge."

Em shuddered.

"The men seem…excited to witness this spectacle, even Papa."

Em's brow furrowed.

"Do you think that is normal?"

Bea tried to think of the most diplomatic answer, but found that she was not quite sure what to say to give her sister comfort.

In the end, she tried simple history.

"Blood sports have been part of Thedas since Tevinter's day. We cannot be surprised that they have survived here in Orzammar.

Margaret's brow furrowed.

"I've heard that Lis has entered."

"Yes, I heard that as well."

"Aren't you worried?"

The scholar shrugged.

"Lis is a skilled warrior; the dwarves won't have an easy time with her."

"What about the king," she said quickly, "Will he fight in the proving as well."

Bea frowned.

One of Bhelen's courtiers had asked Alistair about that last night. She was surprised when he looked down at her, as if to ask her permission before saying anything.

She had shaken her head slightly, not enough for the dwarf to notice, but it was clear that the king had gotten the message.

He declined the honor of fighting in the proving. He had won his share of glory in Denerim, he had said,

"Let the new warriors earn theirs."

After dinner, as he had taken her back to her quarters she had pulled the king into a corner and gave him a long hard passionate kiss.

It had been a small reward, her thanks for not letting the dwarf bait him. Alistair had enough danger in his life.

He did not need to add to it.

Bea gave her sister a suffering look. She was still not sure whether or not the king fighting would cause her sister such distress.

"This isn't about the proving I trust," she inquired.

Em winced.

"No," she said, "not exactly."

"Then what is it?"

Em pursed her lips, it was hard to say in the red light of the glow crystals and the hearth in their room, but it looked from here like her sister was blushing.

That in itself was quite interesting.

Em rarely blushed.

"Noble men like their violence," she said, "It gets their blood up, arouses their passions…"

Margaret worried her lip with her teeth.

"I need a small favor from you, sister," she said, "and Papa must not find out."

Bea smiled slightly.

"Would it be that bad?" she inquired.

"Not bad," Em said, "just awkward."

"Awkward, how?" Bea asked.

Em smiled slightly, her blush deepened.

"There is a young man among the entourage," she said, "We met before in Denerim, but…the situation was not right. Too many eyes and ears were watching."

Her smile widened, and became slyer.

"Tonight will be different. All I ask is that you not come back to this room tonight. I…I wish to…entertain my young man."

Bea frowned.

"I take it this man is not someone father would approve of?"

"I'm his little girl," Em said, "He would not approve if I brought home the Maker himself."

Bea rolled her eyes.

"You're such a dog," she said with an irritated sigh.

Margaret smiled.

"I just know what men desire, the proving will be just what I need to help him…relax and let me…entertain him."

Again the scholar rolled her eyes.

Maker give me strength, she thought.

"And while your…entertaining," she said with no small amount of venom, "Where exactly should I sleep?" It is not like I should just sleep in the hall?"

Em smiled wickedly at her.

"Actually," she said, "I think that this is as good a time as any for you to…cement your claim on the king's heart."

"And how am I supposed to do…do…"

Bea paused, mid-sentence, her eyes narrowed, but then widened when she realized what it was that her sister meant.

In the meantime, her older sister never stopped smiling.

"He has such a big bed all to himself," Em reminded her.

"I'm sure His Majesty would not mind a little company."

Bea blushed as brightly as her sister.

She…she…

Oh my!

She glared at Em, her temper suddenly rising.

"I can't believe you would even suggest such a thing!" she spat.

Margaret crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why," she said, "Have I said something that is so completely repellant? Are you going to sit there and tell me that you have not desired such a union?"

"That is none of…"

"Are you going to tell me Bea, that after all those kisses you and the king have shared since getting here that you have not thought of taking things to the next logical step? Andraste's ass, Bea, any other royal would have bedded you months ago."

Bea rose from her chair, her anger flashing in her blue eyes.

"Alistair is not like that!"

"Then maybe you should take the first step," Em said, "The King has to do something, sister, the nobles are starting to talk about him behind his back."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"What are they saying?"

"That His Majesty is not even trying to produce an heir. That perhaps he was injured fighting the darkspawn, perhaps he cannot give Ferelden the heir it needs."

Em shook her head.

"Our family has bound are fortunes to the king, if he falls, we will go with him. So far all that is happening is talk, but if things continue on as they are, plots will begin to spring up, and someone might get lucky and harm the king."

Margaret gave her a pained look.

"I know you have never been comfortable thinking about this type of thing, but the king must do something. He needs to quiet his critics, and by making your relationship official, he can do that."

Bea winced.

She still believed this was none of her sister's business, but at the same time. She knew how cutthroat politics could be sometimes. Not all of Loghain's followers had fallen during the war. If they thought the king had grown weak, and could not perform his duties…

The scholar's frown deepened.

She had no desire to be the catalyst for starting those kind of problems, but if she took her sister's advice. Who was to say all the rumor mongers who had been attacking her all these months would not get exactly what they wanted, evidence that they could use against her work.

She shook her head.

She did not see any way to come out of this predicament unscathed.

She gave Em a worried look.

"Even if I agree," she said, "How do I…"

Margaret chuckled.

"The king maybe a good man," she said, "but he is still a man, and men want one thing."

Bea shook her head.

"I feel dirty," she said.

Her older sister chuckled again.

"That is the whole point," she said.

Bea winced, suddenly she felt like she was trapped in a cage. Her desires and reputation were at war. Her brain warned her to wait, to preserve her integrity as a scholar.

Her heart, her body…

She shuddered.

They had their own desires.

She could not lie. When Alistair pressed his body against hers when they kissed, a part of her had wanted more. Every time he wrapped her in those strong arms and broad shoulders, she imagined what might happen if she just let go.

When they had kissed last night, she had felt him through his trousers; it had made her heart beat like a fledgling, her whole body warmed.

She shivered.

What would happen if she just let go?

She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly felt very dry.

She gave Em a worried look.

"How…um…how would…would I go on about doing…hm…this."

The elder glass girl smiled.

"I have a few ideas," she said, "Let me tell you about them."

She led her sister over to a small loveseat. Bea looked around nervously, unsure of herself.

Em smiled.

"Try not to look so scared and maudlin sister," she advised, "This will be as good for you as it will be for him."

Bea gave her a fishy look, but Em just continued to smile.

"Trust me," she said.

 _ **A/N: Well, here we are; we have finally reached the Rubicon, so to speak. I must pose a question for you dear readers. I have been debating about taking this story into the rated M territory, and would like your feedback for the next chapter. Fifty will change things, make no mistake, I would appreciate your feedback, until then, keep on reading!**_

 _ **DG**_


	50. The Question

**Chapter 50: The Question**

" _Have fun little sister."_

It was with those words that Margaret had left Bea. She had tried very hard not to scowl, despite the sly grin on her older sister's face. Though they were both attending the grand proving, they were not sitting together. Em had a place near father with the rest of the Ferelden delegation. She and Alistair were granted seats in the royal box, next to Bhelen and his lord advisors. Her Father had been more than pleased by that, it sent all the right messages to the right people he said.

Personally, she was not so sure.

She glanced around at the dwarven lords and their ladies. She was surprised that Rica was not at **her** lord's side, especially with so many noble wives here. She mentioned her question to Lord Gavorn who merely chuckled.

"Rica may be our King's first mistress," he informed her, "But that does not mean that she should be seen at events such as these. His Majesty must be seen as available to the noble daughters of Orzammar. A marriage between House Aeducan and one of the other great houses must remain a possibility."

Bea had nodded at that, she understood the concept of what the lord was saying, even if she did not agree with it in practice. Rica was the king's companion, the mother of his son. She deserved better than what the dwarves had given her.

The Scholar sighed.

Of course, she was a stranger here; she did not have the right to judge the dwarves so quickly. Perhaps the king's mistress understood why she was not granted a place here; perhaps she even accepted the reason.

Bea frowned.

She might not like it, but she had to at least try and hold her tongue.

She leaned in closer to Alistair, enjoying simply being close to him. She tried not to think about what would happen this evening, once Em retired for the evening. She and her sister had spent much of the morning planning what she would say this evening, how she would seduce the king.

The very thought made her blush.

She… _seduce_ the king?

The idea sounded more and more ridiculous every time she thought it.

Bea…was not the most comfortable with men…not in **that** way. She had had crushes before yes, but nothing had really become of any of them. Rene had been the closest. The two of them had been out riding together, and had gotten caught in the rain. They had taken shelter in an old barn not far from the capital.

Bea shuddered at the memory of that day. The morning had held such promise, but by afternoon her hopes had been dashed.

He had been trying to help dry her off when they had started kissing. One thing had led to another and they had ended up in the hay. She still remembered the heat, every nerve on fire with lust and anticipation. She had started to undress when Rene had stopped her.

That is when he had told her about his engagement.

That is when their time together had ended.

A less honorable man would have said nothing. He would have **had** her that day, and only told her about the engagement after he was safely back in society. Rene had had the decency to respect her honor at least, which is probably why she was protecting him from Em and her desire to see him destroyed.

Rene had hurt her, yes, but he had at least tried to be honorable about it.

That bought him at least some respect at least.

She had thrown herself into her work after that, when she had not been crying of course. Rene had given her her first truly romantic broken heart; it was not something she had forgotten easily. She had soldiered on for time, pushing back the pain, ignoring any other possible union that might help her forget what she had lost.

Then…she had come back to Ferelden.

Then she had met Alistair, and everything had changed…again.

For the first time in…well…a very long time, she was thinking about physical love again. She might not have been a complete innocent, but she was far from an expert on the subject that was for sure.

She leaned in closer, enjoying her nearness to His Majesty. She had come to enjoy the smell of leather and steel, that male-scent she had come to identify with him. The king was far from a noble fop, he was a warrior a fighter. He was strong. She could not deny that she enjoyed the feel of his strong arms through the silk of his shirt, and the warmth…Blessed Andraste…the warmth.

She smiled.

The king felt warmer…than most people, not feverish, perhaps, just a little warmer blooded.

He glanced down at her, and she smiled, bringing a slight blush to his cheeks.

It was adorable that blush.

Her body warmed in response.

She took a deep breath, trying to will her heart to not flutter like a baby bird's she needed to at least try to keep her wits about her. Many eyes were on her now.

If she and the king were to…take things to the next level, she wanted the timing to be perfect.

She had no desire to embarrass him, while at the same time, she did not wish for everyone to think her a whore.

It would be a delicate balancing act indeed.

She trying to stay focused on the proving. Lis had entered fighting for house Cousland and the kingdom of Ferelden. During her first bout she had surprised her dwarven opponent; he had expected someone so large to be slow and pondering…

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Lis had caught the warrior completely by surprise, choosing to abandon her great sword and get in close.

She disarmed the man with almost no problem; two hard knees to his chin put the man down on the proving grounds sawdust covered floor.

The dwarven crowd had been almost speechless while the Fereldans had roared with delight.

If anyone doubted Lis' skill, those doubts were now put to rest.

She was a true noble warrior.

Let any man who might say otherwise, beware.

IOI

It was quite late in the evening by the time the Proving ended.

Lis Cousland had made it all the way to the finals, but had suffered a leg injury during a squad combat during the semi-final round. A mage who had accompanied the royal entourage was able to heal her, but felt it unwise that she continue to fight.

She refused to back down, in her eyes; the honor of Ferelden was at stake.

Her defeat finally came at the hands of one of the Silent Sisters. The dwarven warrior woman, having seen Lis' injury during the last bout, targeted her good leg with a nerve strike that made the limb all but useless.

Still the Teyrn's sister refused to yield; the girl had ended up having to knock Lis out, much to the delight of the dwarven crowd.

Even in victory however, the dwarven woman showed honor. She had sent for her personal healers to aid her defeated opponent. When Lis awoke, she was helped up by the woman who had beaten.

The display of unity between the two warriors was more than enough to appease the blood thirsty crowd. Both women had won honor this day, and respect.

Bea left the royal box to check on her friend. Lis, despite her defeat was in good spirits.

There was no dishonor to lose to an honorable opponent.

She even offered to buy the dwarven woman a drink. The two warriors left the proving ground as friends, a sign of the strength between Ferelden and Orzammar.

It was for this reason that Bea was unable to talk to Lis about her…situation with Em. In the end, she returned to royal palace alone, her nervousness, about the next few hours, growing with every single step.

By the time she reached the palace she was about two steps away from complete and utter panic.

She had returned to her room, hoping to convince Em to call the whole thing off.

She arrived to find the door locked. She started to knock, but stopped when she heard passionate cries and moans coming from the other side of the door.

Bea frowned.

Em had apparently started… _entertaining_ her young man already…

The scholar sighed.

…So much for convincing her sister to change her plans.

She rolled her eyes, and tried not to think about what was going on. What was happening on the other side of that door.

She pursed her lips.

Now, she had no choice.

Now she had to make a decision.

She suddenly felt very warm, yet her hands felt like blocks of ice. Fear and anticipation were at war inside her. Part of her cursed her sister for her selfishness, but the other part…

She almost whimpered.

The other part of her welcomed this opportunity.

She walked down to the king's door, still trying to will her heart to slow down. She tried to swallow, but suddenly her mouth felt very, very dry.

 _I don't have to do this,_ she reminded herself. _Surely she could come up with some kind of excuse to find a new room for the night._

Fear ate away at her resolve, but even as it tried to overwhelm her, a new strength surged up from deep within her gut.

She frowned.

She was no coward. She would not run away, not even in the face of something like this. For too long, she had allowed fear to govern her relationship with Alistair. She had ran from him twice since they had met, simply put, she had grown more than tired of it. She was tired of running, of feeling fear. Fear of what others might say. Fear that her work would be compromised and fear that she could not be the woman that her king needed. Fear that she would make him a pariah among his own court.

She took a shuddering breath.

She had killed once to protect herself, an act that she had once believed impossible. Whatever happened tonight would be more than possible. She just had to have the strength to endure what came after.

She took another shaky breath, and stepped up to the door.

She swallowed hard, trying to work saliva back into her mouth.

She raised her hand, and knocked.

No turning back now, she thought.

Here goes nothing.

IOI

He had just finished bathing when he first heard the knock.

Alistair glanced up, the sound taking him by surprise.

 _Who could that be,_ he thought.

He had asked that he not be disturbed, after the proving he was grateful to get away from Bhelen and his court for a while. All the fawning dwarves, while acting civil were at the same time looking for a good place to stick a knife.

It was exhausting.

He shook his head.

How had Kallian been able to deal so well with these people?

He understood it was likely no different than things back in Denerim, but in Denerim he could at least do something about the lords and their games.

He slipped on his robe, if this was important he would deal with it quickly, then he would send whoever it was away. He wished to be alone after everything that had happened today, being at the proving…

…It had brought back a lot of memories about Kallian.

He preferred to be by himself, to deal with those thoughts, those emotions.

They were all that he had left of her.

"Yes," he called out, trying not to sound irritated...

He heard someone answer, but the voice was too low and shaky for him to really hear.

He walked up to the door.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Um…Your Majesty?"

Alistair blinked.

"Bea?"

"Um…yes," she answered, "May…um…may I…uh…enter, Your Majesty? I…um…would like to…to speak with you."

The request sent a shiver down his spine. All thought of wanting to be alone vanished.

Bea wanted to talk with him, now.

Here, in his chambers, after dark…

…alone.

He shook his head, trying to clear away any dirty thoughts from his mind. Whatever Bea wanted was likely important.

He needed to keep a cool head.

"Um…yes," he answered, "Of course…I…um…one moment."

He unlocked the door and stepped aside.

"Enter," he said with a welcoming wave of his hand.

Bea stepped into the room. She was still dressed for the proving, a lovely dark red gown, that sat just off her shoulders, giving him nice view of her neck and shoulders.

It was…a most interesting dress. All night he had resisted the urge to simply stare at her neckline, the rise of soft skin to the peaks of her…

He licked his lips, trying not to be such a drooling lecher.

Her hair was down, but styled in the way popular at court right now, he had never been a big fan of society, trends, but seeing Bea made him sit up and take notice... As she stepped by he smelled the sweet perfume that had so entranced him earlier.

He took a deep breath, trying to take her in, and immediately regretted it.

He turned quickly realizing he was wearing nothing but a robe.

His body stirred in response to her being here.

He could not stop the blush that now colored his cheeks.

Fortunately, his lady did not seem to notice, she glanced around the room, she kept hugged her arms, defensively.

The king frowned slightly

She looked as uncomfortable as he felt right now.

"Is…uh…is something wrong?" he asked.

Bea laughed nervously.

"Not…not really wrong," she said trying to suppress a fit of giggles, "Awkward is more likely."

He raised a hand gesturing for her to continue.

She turned to look at him, finally noticing he was dressed in nothing but a robe.

Her eyes widened.

"I…I should go," she said quickly.

Alistair sprang in front of her, stopping her retreat.

"Wait," he gasped, "Please wait."

They almost collided, and once again she found herself in his arms.

She almost whimpered, as her fingers found his bare chest he touched her bare shoulder with one hand while the other rested on her hip.

They were standing almost eye to eye now, their noses barely touching.

She suddenly felt very weak in the knees.

"You're…you're so warm," she said in a husky voice.

He stood there staring into her eyes, getting lost in those two blue pools. Time seemed to stop for them…they just stood there so close, breathing heavily, their hands starting to explore.

Her hand rested over his heart, it was pounding like a war drum, his skin was soft, but she could feel the light dusting of hair that was there as well.

She leaned in smelling clean flesh, even as he buried his head in her hair. She could feel him breathing her in.

It…it…

Oh Maker!

She almost whimpered.

She was so…so…she had no words!

She felt both hot and cold at the same time, gooseflesh covered her arms.

It took a titanic effort on her part, but slowly she slid her hand out from under his robe. She might have been wrong, but for a moment she thought she saw a surge of disappointment.

She tried to not let it show.

"I've…I've nowhere to sleep for the night," she said in a husky voice, "My sister…well…she needed the room."

"I see," Alistair cooed, pressing her knuckle to his lips, she shuddered, trying hard not to lose her train of thought.

Part of her wanted more, she wanted to feel his tongue on her fingers, the very thought made her shudder…

It was all she could do to keep from leaping into his arms, surrendering to delirious pleasure.

She managed another shaky breath.

"May I stay here tonight?"

Alistair leaned down and kissed her forehead, such a simple gesture, but it put fire in her blood.

He leaned down and kissed her nose, she leaned forward, her lips craving his gentle touch.

He stroked her hair and backed away.

Once again he kissed the knuckles of both her hands.

"The bed is yours," he promised.

She smiled shyly, but then he said something that surprised her. Something that almost made her want to either scream with frustration or sigh with relief.

She still couldn't believe it, those four little words.

"I'll take the couch."


	51. The Gift

**A/N: Nothing too explicit, but a little mature this chapter, be warned.**

 **Chapter 51: The Gift**

"Your Majesty?"

Alistair awoke with a start, immediately feeling very self-conscious and… _embarrassed_.

"Um…yes?" he inquired.

There was a brief pause, and then…he heard her voice again.

"Are you all right," Bea asked, "I thought I heard you cry out, are you in pain?"

He swallowed hard, and tried to will his heart to stop pounding.

"Um…yes…I mean…no…um… **no** …I'm…uh…fine," he said quickly.

He was still laying on the couch by the fire in his room in the Royal Palace of Orzammar. The fire had finally burned down and the glow crystals the dwarves used for lighting and grown very dim. He could barely see the bed, but he suspected that Bea was sitting up, looking at him.

Color suffused his cheeks.

He hoped that she had not figured out what he was dreaming about.

The king shifted on the couch trying to get comfortable, not easy considering the sturdiness of dwarven furniture, furniture that had not really been designed with humans in mind.

Of course that was not the only reason he was _uncomfortable_.

The dream had…affected him…physically, now he had to wait for his…arousal to cease.

Not an easy thing, with the Lady Bea in the same room.

The dream had come to him again, as it had on and off for the last few months, the chase through the halls of the palace. Him cornering her in the throne room, finding her shivering and out of breath…

The king shuddered.

It was in that moment that the dream took on a more… _intimate_ turn.

He rolled over trying to forget about what he had seen, what he had heard, but he could not. It was not something one could discuss in polite company.

What she had done in the dream, what he had _watched_ her do…was…was…

He took a shuddering breath.

He tried not to think about it. Zevran would have told him he should not feel the least bit shame about such dreams…such fantasies were perfectly natural, but Alistair was not Zevran…

He was not…raised that way. He…

"Your Majesty?"

He paused, part of him thought it was best that he pretend that he had fallen back asleep, but something in her voice squashed that plan.

"Yes, Milady?" he inquired.

He heard the sound of the covers shifting on the bed; he tried to focus before he looked upon her. He did not wish her to see him blushing like some ill-educated peasant boy.

He tried the calming techniques he had been taught back in the chantry. They helped somewhat, helped him regain control, and push back the last vestiges of the dream.

He took a cleansing breath and sat up.

He could speak to her plainly now.

He sat up.

Even in the dim light of the glow-crystals he could see her. Her pale skin looked as blue as the sky, her eyes as dark and perilous as the sea. The girl had brought nothing with her to this room; he had offered to let her use one of his shirts as a nightgown.

Alistair shivered.

He had remembered his courtesy; he had looked away politely as he had gone behind the changing screen. He had tried not to gawk as she stepped out behind it…

When he did look he shook his head.

Andraste give me strength, he thought.

Why did a woman look so sexy in a man's shirt?

Bea had said little as she slipped into bed, whispering good night only when she was settled.

He had gone to the small couch and tried to get settled himself, which was not an easy challenge.

His mind raced, no matter how hard he tried to turn it off.

He felt…frustrated, he had done the right thing…but…but…

He shuddered again.

He felt like he had cheated himself, had he not come here to Orzammar thinking that he and Bea might…?

The very thought made him hiss.

What had he been thinking? Had he thought that he would just sweep the beautiful scholar off her feet? The very thought was laughable…

What did he know of romancing a noble born girl? Maker knew; Kallian had been more _aggressive_ in their relationship than he had been. She had been comfortable with her sexuality; she had made him comfortable as well. It was not that she seduced him, not exactly…

…But it was close to that, oh yes, so very close.

He pulled the blanket he was using tighter around himself, despite the dry heat, that seemed to be the norm here in the palace, he tried to get comfortable.

The king sighed.

He had not done what he had really wanted to do tonight.

If he had…he…he…

He shook his head.

The world thought him a brave man, a hero, but he was not.

He swallowed hard.

He was a fool.

He was a bloody coward.

Now he was facing her, the silence between them like a stone wall.

He was a bloody coward.

IOI

Bea watched as the king regarded, she was grateful for the dim light, it was hiding her blush.

The scholar pursed her lips.

She was trying very hard not to gawk. Her heart pounded against her ribs, like a tiny bird trying to escape its cage.

The king had been nothing but a gentleman, she respected that. Most men would have tried to take advantage of her request. Em would have said that she should have forced the issue, but if she had, she would not have been herself…and Alistair would not have been Alistair.

Still…still…

She swallowed trying to moisten her dry throat.

She had tried to fall asleep, she truly had, but Orzammar had not been very helpful on that front.

It was the wretched heat. She could hardly stand it.

How could the dwarves sleep in such conditions, using lava for heating their homes? Of course, it was said that the dwarves had been born of the stone, so heat was likely not a problem for them, at least not the dry heat of the caves where they had built their cities.

Yes, she thought, it was the heat that was why she could not sleep, it had to be…

It had nothing to do with the king, the half-naked warrior less than five feet from her.

Nope, Alistair had nothing to do with it...

…Not a thing.

What is the problem, she tried to tell herself, it was not like she had never seen a man bare-chested before. She had grown up with two brothers after all. She had seen Arland and Quentin without a shirt on dozens of times.

Really, that dark little part of her mind responded, I don't remember Arland or Quentin ever looking like **that.**

Bea shuddered.

She could not help it.

Alistair was certainly…in shape.

Her scholar's mind, a boon to her work, now worked against her. The very same imagination that fueled her work now turned against her, filling her head with insecurities.

Perhaps she had been too forward.

Perhaps she had not been forward enough.

She could not sleep what if snored.

What if the king snored?

What if he realized tonight that he did not want her? What if the reason he had not tried to make her his was that he had found another?

So many possibilities raced through her mind, making her more and more frustrated.

Maker's breath, her conscience chided, what is wrong with you?

The king has been nothing but a gentleman.

But that was perhaps the problem.

She sighed.

Sometimes…just sometimes…a woman does not want her man to behave like a gentleman.

The very thought made her feel like a hypocrite.

Now here they were, sitting up staring at each other in another embarrassing silence.

Talk about awkward.

Alistair tried to end the stalemate.

He chuckled.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

She nodded.

"It is this damn heat," she growled, "I don't know how the dwarves do it."

He chuckled again.

"I thought the same thing the first time I came here. Kallian did too."

Bea pursed her lips.

It was rare that the king mentioned the Hero of Ferelden by name. They had been close, or so rumors said, very close. She had died a hero, but…

"How did she deal with it," Bea asked, "the heat down here?"

Alistair coughed.

"She um…slept…um…"

Bea gave him an arched look.

"Yes?"

Um…uh…she…uh…"

"Yes?"

He fidgeted.

"She…she slept…in…a…uh…natural state."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"Natural? I…I don't under…"

She blinked. Finally, figuring out what the king meant.

Natural…meant…without clothes. At least she thought it did.

"Oh," she said in a shy voice.

He laughed nervously.

"Yes…oh."

Bea looked down blushing again.

Alistair did not comment on that, thank the Maker.

She shifted in bed, it was not like she could use the hero's method now could she?

Not with the king in the room.

She sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I never meant to inconvenience you, Your Majesty."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"It is no trouble," he assured her, "happy to be of help, but I am surprised you let your sister kick you out of your quarters."

She smiled weakly.

"I was simply being a good sister," she shrugged, "Besides, I had no desire to spend the night listening to Em…entertaining her young man."

"It could not be that bad," Alistair said, "I mean it is not like they would be…"

Bea gave him an arched look, it did not take the king long to add up what she was saying, when he did…

Alistair's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said, "When you mean entertaining you mean…?"

"Yup," she replied, "that."

Oh," Alistair said, "That."

Bea did her best to suppress a smile.

The king's awkwardness, much more than her own, was endearing…

She smiled slightly.

Not to mention…alluring.

She tried to push such thoughts out of her mind.

The room seemed to be getting warmer by the moment.

Bea shifted uncomfortably.

Why was this so difficult?

The king shook his head.

"Well," he said, "If we are not going to sleep we might as well do something constructive."

He pushed away the blanket and rose.

Bea quickly looked away.

He had had his robe nearby, so she had not seen much, but what she had…

Oh my.

She smiled slightly.

The king crossed the room, and picked up a small parcel from the desk in the corner of the room. He carried it over to the bed.

Bea tilted her head, curiosity getting the best of her.

What was this now?

He gave her a shy smile.

"I saw this in the marketplace, yesterday," he said, "I hope you like it."

Bea looked down at the package.

"A present?"

He nodded.

"I know I got you the plant, but…that was for work. This…um…technically this is for work too, I suppose, but…well…open it….please."

She quirked her lips in amusement as she removed the wrapping from the package, it was sweet that he had thought of her, and even more so that he was doing what he could to aid her research, and…

She opened the box.

"Mm?" she said.

She pulled out a tiny pendant on a delicate silver chain, she thought it might be bone at first, bone that had been polished to a mirror shine, but that was not it.

She regarded the stone not sure what to make of it, the markings on the surface almost seemed to glow I the dim light.

She ran her fingers over the smooth surface; it seemed cool, even in the heat of Orzammar.

Alistair rubbed his neck nervously, perhaps fearing that she did not like it.

"It is a rune stone," he informed her, "Always was interested in the things truth be told. Magic made solid, and all that. The Templars always said magic was bad, yet they had no problem using enchanted blades, bows, or rings…"

Alistair shook his head.

"I **never** understood that."

Bea smiled at the gift. The fact that he had chosen something that fascinated him was quite telling, almost like he was sharing a piece of himself with her.

It was…thoughtful.

She traced the markings with her finger, lyrium she supposed, cast into the stone, making whatever effect it had real.

"Do they have meaning," she asked, "These markings?"

Again Alistair nodded.

"They are the dwarven symbol for wisdom, or so the vendor told me," he said with a shy smile, "their scholars wear rings and amulets with this rune, it is supposed to help them focus, help them reach the conclusions they desire most."

Bea turned the stone over in her hand.

How interesting.

Alistair gave her a hopeful look.

"Do you like it?" he repeated, nervously.

Bea smiled.

Em would say she take her time responding, make him think that she was going to reject his gift.

Bea was not that type of girl.

"It is beautiful," she purred, "I will treasure it, always."

Alistair beamed at her remark.

"Good," he said, "I'm glad."

She handed it back to him, and turned, pushing her hair away from her neck.

He blinked, at the sight of her neck, how her shirt had slipped down slightly revealing one creamy shoulder.

She smiled.

"Would you," she asked.

He looked down at the pendant, and up at her.

"Oh," he said, realizing what she wanted.

"Of course."

He slipped the silver chain around her neck, his fingers brushing gently against her bare skin.

Bea shuddered at his touch, gooseflesh covered her arms.

She felt a cool sensation wash over her, she was not sure if it was the pendant, or simply what Alistair had said about it.

Either could be true, given the circumstances.

She turned and let him see. She shifted slightly, letting her had dip down and gave him a lazy sexy smile.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Alistair swallowed hard. It took him a moment to respond.

"Beautiful," he murmured, "Simply beautiful."

She blushed.

"You're so sweet," she cooed, "It is truly..."

She did not get to finish.

He leaned in and kissed her lips. A soft chaste kiss that was both sweet, yet exciting.

He pulled away. Again they stared at each other in silence.

He shifted nervously on the bed.

"I…um…I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have…"

She leaned in and kissed him, once, twice, three times…

That is all that it took.

He pulled her into his arms kissing her deeply, when they broke for air, he kissed her neck working his way up her throat, stopping only to nibble on her ear.

Bea groaned loudly.

"Your…um…Your Majesty," she cooed, "You…I…We…um…oh!"

He wasn't listening, not with his ears anyway.

They had resisted this for a long time, some might say, too long.

Alistair was done resisting.

Bea's hand's slid over his shoulders, his robe fell down to his waist. Her heart pounded and her head spun, as he gently pushed her back down into bed.

Bea sighed as his strong hands began to pull down the shirt she was wearing. She did not resist. One hand slid up her bare thigh, making her almost whimper with pleasure.

This…this was…it was…

She moaned softly, arching her back as he touched her.

She sighed, letting go of her fear and doubt.

It seemed that the king had something else to give her this evening, she thought with a wicked smile.

He pulled the shirt down away from her shoulders, making her sigh happily.

She would accept what he had for her. What else could she do?

She smiled as they kissed yet again.

It was impolite to refuse the king, and tonight she would not refuse him.

She was his.

He growled into her bare shoulder, exciting her even more, as her nails dug into his back.

She…was his.


	52. Ghosts and Alliances

**Chapter 52: Ghosts and Alliances**

Nathaniel Glass was pleased.

He had been having the king watched, his agents seeing how their lord spent his free time. They could not spy on him openly of course, the royal guard would not allow that, but…within the halls of the Palace of Orzammar, they could move somewhat freer.

The Arl of Denerim smiled.

Tonight, he had received good news.

Word that Bea had gone to the king's chamber had reached him a few moments after she had gone inside. Little else was known since the king had not sent for any servants since his daughter's arrival.

He had sat up, waiting to hear from his man on patrol, to hear what else the man had observed.

A half hour later, the man came to him.

The Arl bid him to make his report.

Neither Bea nor the king had left the king's quarters, but…there was something that the man had heard.

Arl Nathaniel bade the man continue.

"Moaning, My Lord," he said, "and um…um…"

The Arl frowned.

"Yes?"

"Milord?"

"Speak _freely_ soldier," he said, "What else do you hear?"

The man swallowed.

"Other sounds, ser," the man stammered, "Sounds…of… of… _lovemaking_."

Nathaniel Glass nodded.

"That will be all for tonight," he told his agent, "return to your post."

He pressed a few gold coins into the young man's hand. The guard turned without further comment.

The Arl leaned back in his chair.

He was most pleased.

 _It had taken his daughter some time, but finally she had made her move. The king was even now taking her as his consort, perhaps even his official mistress…_

His smile widened.

… _and why should she stop there?_

His mind filled with many honeyed thoughts, future rewards that would likely be his. After years of living on the cusp of being noble and commoner, his family had finally arrived. He barely remembered his life before, back when his older brother had betrayed Queen Moira. Back when he was the brother to Bann Keir.

He had lost that life; he may have died had they stayed. His sister had saved him, her and her husband, the true Ser Glass. They had spent so many years after running, remaining on the fringes of noble life, fearing that some Maric-supporter might take revenge for something he had had no hand in doing.

The late Teyrn Loghain had often tried to have him tried for this wrong or that. Fortunately, King Cailan and Queen Anora had had a more… _liberal_ view. He had been useful to them, so he had been allowed to continue his work, to try and give his children the lives they deserved.

He had been a child when Queen Moira had died, but few would have cared how old he had been. He was still the brother of Bann Keir.

He was still the brother of a traitor.

Nathaniel shook his head.

Through his children, he at long last had shed that stigma. He was now Arl of Denerim, a title he intended to pass on. Quentin had married Wulfe's niece, their children would be heirs to West Hill. Bea was now the king's woman, perhaps a contender to become his Queen…

If that happened, if Bea gave the king children, the name of Glass would be remembered forever, it would be carved on the stone of Ferelden itself. It would be…

There was a knock at the door.

The Arl frowned.

Who could possibly still be up at this hour, he had told his agents that he was retiring.

"Yes?" he called out.

"It is Wilbur Rich, Your Grace," he heard from the other side of the door, "May I come in?"

The Arl frowned.

"What would the king's secretary want now? He could have refused of course, but what if the man had come on the king's business, perhaps something he had forgotten to mention earlier.

Glass sighed.

"Enter," he said.

The door opened, the guard admitted the oily man. His ever present ledger gripped in his hand like his life depended on it.

Rich smiled at the Arl.

"I am pleased to see you are still awake, Your Grace," he purred, "There are matters we should discuss."

Arl Glass rose from his chair and poured himself a drink. The wine was imported from Orlais; he was pleased that Bhelen had thought to include some of the finer things for his guest's enjoyment.

"Such as, Mister Secretary?" he inquired.

Rich's smile widened.

"The future, Your Grace," he said with a slight bow, "The happiness of our King…"

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

"And your daughter…the Queen." He added.

Arl Nathaniel paused.

"What makes you think my daughter will be queen?" he inquired.

Rich chuckled.

"You're not the only one watching the king," he reminded him, "The king has wanted your daughter for some time, now he is having her…"

Rich smirked.

"Most fathers would not approve, a man having his way with his daughter?"

Glass shrugged.

"It is a part of noble life. I want what is best for my family. If Bea pleasing the king is part of that, so be it."

The secretary shook his head.

"If only it was that simple, Your Grace," he said, "Word of this will reach the king's allies, and enemies soon enough, those with designs on the future of Ferelden will no doubt try to take advantage of this."

Glass frowned.

"Those like yourself?" he said.

Rich shrugged.

"I support your daughter, Your Grace, and I am _not_ alone. Bridget Glass is exactly what Ferelden needs. The Couslands understand that. The Circle understands that, and when her work in the Blightlands succeeds. The people **will** understand that too."

The man sighed.

"But we are _not_ without enemies, people who would see the king fail, or their own agendas advanced. Some on the court claim loyalty to the king, but only wish to control him, to rule through him as their puppet."

The Secretary's smile returned.

"You know of who I speak."

Glass did not answer. He had heard the rumors, even if he had no part in them himself.

"How do I know this is not some kind of test? Perhaps the king or the chancellor put you up to this."

Again, Rich chuckled.

"Life is a test, Your Grace," he reminded him, "You are either succeed and live, or fail and…well….death is not the only punishment failure can bring."

The Secretary sighed.

"I'm not here on behalf of the king or the chancellor. I can promise you that much. However…I do wish you to know that I'm watching you, you and the chancellor both. I happen to believe in your daughter."

He gave the Arl a shark-like smile.

"You can either profit from my belief, or you can be cast aside, it is your choice, of course, but I would advise you not to underestimate me, there is nothing I would not do for king and country."

Glass' brow furrowed.

"What is it you want Mister Rich," he asked, "You refuse land and title. You compliment my family in the same breath that you threaten me."

"Oh…I did **not** threaten, I merely made a promise."

"That does not answer my question, Mister Secretary."

Rich smirked at him.

"No…it doesn't," he agreed."

Rich lightly tapped his fingers on the cover of his ledger, perhaps trying to decide what he would say next, how best to explain his presence here, or perhaps to think of a better lie.

He paused for a moment, and then another, and then another.

Finally, he gave the Arl a pleasant smile.

Only then did he answer him.

"I could give you dozens of stock answers, Your Grace," he said, "I could tell you anything in regard to my motivations. I think I will try the truth today, or at least a version of it. Perhaps…in the end…I do what I do to please those who are no longer with us. Attempting to meet impossible standards I was expected to meet long ago…"

Rich sighed.

"I don't suppose you have ever heard of my Grandfather, Ser Alfred Rich?"

"I can't say that I have," the Arl replied.

"Not surprising, he was a knight at a time when knights of Ferelden were being hunted simply because they **were** knights of Ferelden. When he died, my father Thaddeus Rich tried and failed to live up to the man's memory, or at least the memory he had of him. It was an impossible chore. When I was born, I was expected to live up to the same high standard; it was again nothing that I could meet."

A sad laugh escaped Rich's throat, a croak that led to almost a coughing fit, the result of his damaged throat.

Yet, he still somehow managed to regain control; he smiled at the Arl again.

"We all have our ghosts, Your Grace. His Majesty is haunted by his father and older brother. I'm haunted by my father and grandfather. You…"

Rich smirked at him.

"You have your own ghosts, don't you?"

Glass said nothing; his history was fairly common knowledge, with the older nobles at least.

Rich had not mentioned Bann Keir, but it was impossible to imagine that the man did not know of him. Rich had too many sources to deny him of that knowledge.

"In the end," the secretary said, "My own wants don't really matter, it is the king that I serve, if I can profit from his rise then so be it. I'm not above turning the good of Ferelden to my advantage. I suspect that you are not either."

Arl Glass again said nothing.

"I feel that your daughter is good for the king, and I also believe that she is the best for Ferelden. I will do my best to shield her from her enemies, and when the opportunity arises, I will see them eliminated. The chancellor would have preferred a simply noble girl that would sit politely off to the side with no interest in politics, a girl that would simply try and supply the king with heirs and keep her mouth shut. We both know that Bea is not such a girl. She might not like politics, but she still understands them."

"She is my daughter," Arl Glass said with a small amount of pride.

"Which is why we are having this conversation," Rich added, "We both know that the Chancellor is trying to make the king into exactly what he thinks the king should be. If King Alistair does decide to marry your daughter, Eamon will no doubt try to control her; he has already begun by bringing his wife into the mix."

Glass nodded, he knew about Lady Isolde's tutoring. Bea held her tongue because it was expected, but she suspected that she did not like the woman any more than anyone else at court did.

"We do not need Alistair to be the Chancellor's perfect king. We need King Alistair to be King Alistair. Your daughter will help him remain true to himself, she won't let him compromise, and is brave enough to tell him when he is about to go astray."

Rich paused again.

"Speaking of which," he added, "My agents have learned that Anora MacTir is attempting to set up an audience with your daughter. We should look into this at the earliest convenience."

Glass frowned and nodded.

It would have been better had Alistair had the woman executed months ago. It would have angered her supporters, but…

Rich, likely sensing what he was thinking, cut him off.

"Alistair was wise not to execute her, Your Grace," he said, "Dead she would have been a martyr. There is still a chance she will bend the knee to our king. An accepting Anora is far more useful than a dead one that her father's cronies can hold up as an example, as a reason why the king should be removed."

The Arl nodded, the man had a point, it was risky, but all life was.

"I have been aware of a conspiracy against the king since before I came to Denerim," Rich informed him, "I believe they now target your daughter as well. The attempt on her life outside of Highever was only the first shot. When they learn that the king has taken her to his bed, there will be others."

The secretary sighed.

"I will do what I can to protect her," he said, "I only ask that you stay out of my way, that you endeavor to keep the chancellor out of my way. Do that and I will do everything in my power to make sure your family gets everything you believe it deserves."

Arl Glass considered his offer. He knew that Eamon plotted the man's downfall. If it was not for the chancellor however, they would never have come this far.

Glass pursed his lips.

In Orlais, he knew, alliances needed to be kept fluid. Ferelden liked to think that it was beyond the grand game, but even here, the elements of it remained. Fereldans simply did not make it seem like recreation.

The secretary had allied himself with his daughter, which should have been enough. Glass was smart enough however to realize that the confrontation between the Chancellor and the Secretary was still coming…

If he played it right, he could stay just enough off to the side to profit from whoever won. It would be a dangerous game, but he had played for such stakes before.

He simply needed to be cautious.

The Arl bowed his head.

"I will stay out of your way," he promised, "For my daughter's sake."

"Excellent," Rich purred, "It pleases me to see that you are as smart and pragmatic as Lady Bridget. Good night, Your Grace."

"Mister Secretary," he said with a nod.

Rich turned to leave.

"Oh, one more thing," he said smiling.

Glass gave him an arched look.

Rich almost laughed.

"I received word from one of my contacts in your estate. Your daughter in law Jayne is with child. I'm sure you would have heard about it tomorrow or the next day, but I thought you could use some more happy news."

Glass was torn between cheering and being concerned, it was happy news to be sure, but…

"You _have_ agents in my estate?"

"I have many agents in Denerim now, Your Grace," he answered, "I'm a good ally to have, and a dangerous enemy when provoked, I hope you can see that.

Glass swallowed hard.

Yes, he could.

"Goodnight, Your Grace," Rich repeated, closing the door.

"Pleasant dreams."


	53. Yours and Mine

**A/N: A little mature again, nothing too extreme, but still, be warned. Sorry about the lack of updates was on vacation last week, will try to stay on track now.**

 **Chapter 53: Yours and Mine**

"I…I think I ruined your shirt."

Bea giggled when she heard him chuckle. A cold shiver went down her spine as Alistair ran his fingers down the full length of her body. She felt him pull her closer she could almost feel his heart beating as he pulled her tight against him. It was still beating quite fast, considering the situation that was more than understandable.

"Mmm," she sighed, wondering, hoping, that he might take her again.

He layered kisses down her neck, stopping at her shoulder. She lay in his arms wearing nothing but his pendant and a smile. He gently lifted her chin and kissed her softly on the lips.

He smiled down at her, mischief shining in his eyes.

"Ooh," he said with mock-seriousness, "Ruined the king's shirt, you evil thing you."

He tried to kiss her again, but she nipped him on the lower lip with her teeth.

"Ow," he purred.

She grinned fiercely.

He chuckled again.

"Whatever will you have to do to make up for such…a serious…trespass."

Bea's heart beat faster.

"I…um…I'm sure you can come up with something…Your Majesty," she cooed.

He nibbled on her right ear; she trembled and sighed with pleasure.

"I have an idea or two," he promised.

"Good," she said.

She surprised him, pushing him over, flat on his back, she ended up on top of him, pinning his hands with hers.

She smirked down at him.

"I have an… _idea_ or two myself," she purred, "With your permission of course."

Alistair smiled.

"You have it my good woman," he promised.

She smirked, and started kissing down his bare chest.

He groaned.

"I'm all _yours_ ," he sighed.

IOI

After their second round of lovemaking, the pillow talk started again. Bea lay on her belly while Alistair lightly stroked her back. She sighed with pleasure, enjoying his touch. Suddenly, a sly smile came to her face.

Alistair smiled.

"What," he asked.

"I was just thinking," she said.

"That can be dangerous," he quipped.

She lightly slugged him in the side, again, and he chuckled.

"I deserved that," he admitted.

"Can I finish?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, "My apologies, my good woman."

Bea sighed.

"I was thinking about how we first met our little… _collision_ outside the stable."

Alistair shook his head.

"I was afraid that I had just started a war," he admitted, "that you were the daughter of some great king with a vast army and a short temper."

She sighed.

"I was afraid you were going to have me arrested, that you would cut off my head, and have my family banished."

The king sighed.

"I guess we were both wrong," he purred lightly kissing her bare shoulders.

Bea murmured softly.

"Can I ask you a question," he purred between kisses.

"Yessss," she answered with a soft moan, "I…um… think I'm beyond lying at this point."

He lay back, resting his head on his arm.

"Why were you running to the stables that day? Where were you going in such a hurry?"

Bea pursed her lips; she gave him a faraway look, perhaps pulling herself back to that moment.

"I was trying to get away, I suppose."

"Why?"

She took a lock of her black hair between her fingers twirling it slightly.

"I attended the whole "Gathering of Ladies" thing as a favor to my father. It was Em who really wanted to go, to have a chance to see the new King, to try to enthrall him with her beauty, or impress him with her wit…"

Bea shook her head.

"Em loved the whole idea of it, me, I was not so happy. I felt like I was a piece of meat, that I had been turned into a mare being sold on an auction block. The more I thought about it, the more panicked I became; finally I could not take it anymore. I fled…"

She gave him a sad smile.

"I never thought it possible that you would choose me, not with so many other ladies in attendance."

Bea shook her head again.

"It is ironic," she said, "By running away, by bumping into you that day; I started us on this course."

She chuckled.

"The Maker does have a sense of humor, doesn't he?"

Alistair frowned.

"Do you regret being here?"

"No," she answered, "Being with you, it…it was not what I expected. You…you're so much more than what they say about you, Alistair."

He smirked.

"I do my best," he said.

She smirked, and slightly tapped him on the shoulder again. He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips.

She sighed contentedly.

She lay there for a moment letting him enjoy his work on her fingers. A contented sigh escaped her lips; she had never felt this way before. She had come closest with Rene, possibly, but even he had been nothing like this.

She frowned suddenly.

"What are we going to do," she asked.

"About what," he asked, pausing at her ring finger.

"This," she said pointing back and forth between the two of them.

"Us," she added.

IOI

Alistair paused, considering her question. It was a good one of course, deserving of a serious answer, not just one of his jokes or sarcastic comments.

He sighed.

"You will continue your work, of course," he said, "It helps Ferelden, and I know you enjoy it. As for…well…this, we might need to keep it quiet, at least for now."

Bea pursed her lips.

"Are you ashamed of being here," she asked sounding hurt.

"No," he said quickly, "Never. It is just…I'm not deaf, Milady. I've heard what some of the nobles have said about you, the rumors that have been swirling since you first came to court."

The king sighed.

"I want you to be happy," he murmured, "If there was any doubt that I cared about you, I hope I put that doubt to rest, tonight."

He shook his head.

"You deserve to be treated with the utmost respect, even if we weren't doing…well…this. I will do what I can to see that you get that respect. I promise."

That brought that tiny smile to her lips, the one he had noticed when they first talked in the gardens, not a smirk, not really, but a clear show of acceptance, and contentment.

The king smiled.

That little smile drove him wild.

He sat up in bed and brush a lock of dark hair out of her eyes, she sighed, enjoying his touch.

"I…I don't want this to just be a one-time thing," he confessed, "I care about you so much. I want you. When we are alone your every wish will be my desire. If it is in my power to grant you what you want, I will…without hesitation."

"Alistair," she purred, blushing.

He gave her a shy smile.

It was not an easy thing, speaking his heart. Kallian had heard it, and he loved her, he would never claim otherwise, but now…Kallian was gone, and Bea…well…Bea had started to fill the whole in him that had been there since his fellow warden, his best friend, and lover had died…

Shianni said that she believed that Kallian would not have wanted him to be alone forever. She would have wanted him to find some happiness in his life, some peace after all the war and death they had seen during the Blight.

He wanted to believe that. He needed to believe that.

Bea was special to him, he could not deny that.

He would _**not**_ let her go.

He waited for her to respond. If they continue this he would need to be careful, he did not want to distract her from her work, and he would have to work harder to protect her from the snide reactions to her opponents on the royal court. That did not bother him in the least. He had shielded Kallian many times on the battlefield.

He would do his best to shield Bea on this one.

"Will you stay with me," he asked, trying not to sound too pathetic, not an easy thing for him, truth be told.

It is not begging, he thought to himself, it is a request, a very…urgent request…

Okay, it was begging, but he was fine with that, as long as she stayed…

…As long as she was with him.

"Will you stay?"

IOI

Bea's smile faded slightly, her brow furrowed with deep thought. What Alistair had asked her…it was bigger than just the two of them. When a king was involved, it was always bigger than just two people…

He was asking her to be his, and only his. Most women on the court would have jumped at the chance. Maker knew, Margaret certainly would have, she would not have hesitated in accepting the king's offer. Bea did not have that luxury.

She had given herself to Alistair tonight, but when they returned to Denerim, returned to his duties of ruling the nation, she would be giving herself to more than just this kind, gentle, handsome man; she would be giving herself to Ferelden as a whole.

That situation had its drawbacks.

She did not doubt that he would be true to his word. Everything she had seen, everything she had heard had revealed what type of man Alistair Theirin was. He had not taken a single mistress since the Hero of Ferelden died, and it had not been from lack of girls willing to fill that role.

No, if Alistair said he wanted her and her alone, he would be true to that promise. She would be the king's woman, and few would speak against her to her face.

There were many advantages to such a position. She would have whatever resources she required to continue her work. Nobles wishing to bend the king's ear would no doubt come to her hoping that she might speak in their favor. She would be in a position to not only safeguard her work, but deal with those who might try and sabotage it. House Glass' prestige would double, perhaps even triple…

They would be the undisputed masters of the capital. Second only to the royal family itself…

But…

She licked her lips.

She would also be painting a target on Alistair's chest, right now; her enemies were only seeking to discredit her and her work. If she and the king began a true relationship, her enemies would become his enemies as well. Who could say how far such people might be willing to go if they thought they needed to go through the king to get to her.

His Majesty was not weak, she had never believed that, but he was still new to the battlefield of politics. He could not even begin to guess what kind of weapons a skilled politician could bring to bear.

The very thought almost made her shudder. She had no desire to see Alistair harmed, which is likely what he would be if they chose to continue this back in Denerim.

The very idea of it terrified her.

Alistair had so much potential, she should have been smart and told him that this had been a one-time thing, a moment of comfort she did not regret, but could not in good conscience allow to happen again.

That was the smart thing to do, she knew…

Alas, she was not feeling very smart today.

She was not thinking with her head, not anymore, her heart had finally broken free of its bonds and began to speak its mind again.

It would not be silenced the way it was after Rene.

It would _**not.**_

She had no desire to leave Alistair behind. She had grown too fond of him for that. She found herself thinking about all the little things that defined him as person. She thought about that spikey hair, the odd humble sense of humor, and those puppy dog eyes, not to mention the strong warrior's body that had pleased her so completely tonight.

Even now the thought made her passions stir, they had been caged for so long, buried beneath her work and her will, Alistair had shattered the walls that held them, broke those chains with his fire and passion.

She could not go back to being the scholar she was, even if she wanted too.

He had changed her.

He had stopped her thinking of herself as "I" and started thinking of herself as one of an "us."

A most frightening thought to be sure, but at the same time, quite liberating.

I am His Majesty's woman, she thought, and he is my man.

A wave of possessiveness washed over her.

She would not surrender that to another, not after what they had shared.

She would not surrender him, not ever…

Not ever.

She would find some way to continue her work, to keep the rumor mill from burying it, but at the same time, she would share herself with Alistair. She would share his life, and his bed.

And she would be damned before she would let anyone stand between them. Everyone knew what the king could do in a fight, but they had no idea what she could do.

She might not use a sword, but that did not make her defenseless, one did not survive in noble circles in Val Royeaux by being defenseless.

She had her mind and her wits, not to mention several very powerful allies, with them at her side, she would not fail.

She could not fail.

She glanced up at Alistair again, only a few seconds had passed since he had made her his offer. Yet the king looked like he had been waiting an eternity, such was his fear of her refusal.

She smiled slightly.

In this, he had nothing to fear. She knew what she wanted, and now…

…he would too.

She sat up and kissed him deeply once again, she wrapped her arms around him, even as he pulled her into his lap, even as he began to maneuver her over onto her back once again.

He gave her a fierce smile.

"Can I take that as a yes?" he asked.

Bea giggled.

"It all depends on your performance in the next few minutes," she said playfully.

"I'm trusting that you can…rise to the occasion.

Alistair gave her his hungriest smile.

I'll do my best, Milady," he promised.

She sighed happily as he began.

"I think you will be impressed," he said in a husky voice.

She groaned loudly.

"Mmmm," she whimpered, "We…ahhhh…we will just…have to…have to discuss it in…in the morning."

They stared into each other's eyes, drowning in each other's gaze.

Yes, they would discuss it in the morning, but for now…there was tonight, their night.

He did his best to make it last…

…Hopefully…forever.


	54. Dark Horizon

**Chapter 54: Dark Horizon**

She stood in the eye of the storm.

Bann Lorelei laughed as the air burned around her. Her gown snapped like a sail in the cool dark air, her red hair, blew wildly with each new burst of power.

The Bann's eyes sparkled hungrily.

This, she thought…this is what it feels like to truly be alive.

To have **power!**

She raised her hands again, her fingers curling into lethal claws. As she extended her fingers a blast of green-yellow, and black colored lightning splashed against the stone, the flash was so bright that it would have blinded anyone who dared look into it, the heat generated by the pulses left the stones that were struck glowing red…

Lorelei did not cower; she did not shield her eyes. She looked straight into the maelstrom she had summoned. She looked into the blinding flash, and drank it in, accepting its power.

She looked…and grew more confident because of it.

"Well…well done, Your Ladyship," a mewling voice said from behind her.

"Perhaps it is time to power down, give yourself time to rest."

Lorelei ignored the mage's words.

 _Rest?_

 _Who needed rest?_

She grinned hungrily.

She now wielded power fit for a **god!**

It was in that moment that she realized the truth.

She was not _standing_ in the eye of the storm.

She **was** the eye of the storm!

The mage, Melcendra, had cautioned her when they first began this lesson. Circle mages had been summoning lightning for centuries…what Lorelei was summoning now…was something…more…far more.

Her teacher, who had once served her father, and then Bann Esmerelle, had first taught her this spell today. The woman had not expected much, she, and several old friends, had learned the spell from one of their mentors in the Ferelden Circle, the ability to transform magic and ambition and focus it into a lethal almost poisonous storm was not something the circle had been keen for its apprentices to master. So they had studied in secret, waiting for a time that they could use their power to free themselves from the Chantry, this was, of course, back before the Blight and the manipulations of the mad abomination Uldred had destroyed much of their old coven, and before the hero of Ferelden finished the job.

Her teacher was one of the few survivors of those events, sheltered by Howe allies so that they could use her power against their enemies. Esmerelle had been the one to introduce Lorelei to her dear teacher.

Now…unbelievably, at least in this, she had _surpassed_ her.

According to Melcendra, even the most talented of their number had not managed more than a few sparks during their first lesson. It was not an easy thing channeling both emotion and magic, and twisting it so. Lorelei did it almost naturally; her power was enough to rip the entire room apart. Had they not been standing in an empty cellar, everything around them likely would have been turned to ash, and that would only have been the beginning.

Lorelei giggled.

She was just getting warmed up.

Anger was easiest to start with, her teacher had said. That was good, Lorelei knew, she had no shortage of anger. The Duchess had made sure she knew how she had come to be in her service, the old woman had cared for her, but that did not mean that she hid her from hard facts.

 _Take care of this._

Lorelei's eyes narrowed.

It was with those four words that Rendon Howe had left her in the Duchess' care. No, 'be kind to her,' no, 'let her know that she is missed," Rendon Howe had dropped her off on the Duchess' doorstep, and then returned to his life, returned to his quest to gather more power for himself.

The girl felt a growl building in the back of her throat.

The fool, she thought…

…The stupid, arrogant fool.

She sent another blast of black lightning into the stone wall, it left a black scorch there, and the mortar almost glowed from the assault.

Rendon Howe had been a fool. He had trusted his legacy to inept children.

She sighed.

Now it was up to her, the daughter he had abandoned, to pick up the pieces.

If only father could see me now, she thought, the children conceived with his wife had failed their family, failed the name of Howe…

A sneer came to her lips.

Now it was up to her, she would rebuild their family. The one her father had tossed away, the bastard he had wanted hidden.

Her eyes gleamed hungrily.

 _She would have it all._

 _She would have…_ _ **everything.**_

Lightning crackled against the magic shield she had summoned, the one that protected her and her teacher. It quavered under the assault but did not break, like the lightning; it was born of her power too.

She could hold the shield. She could both shield and attack at the same time.

She was nothing if not…adaptable.

She found herself thinking about that Cousland cow, that ugly ox of a girl who had accompanied Lady Glass back from Highever.

She imagined that girl being caught up in the power of her storm; she imagined her armor melting, her eyes burning inside her skull.

The Couslands no doubt thought they were done with House Howe, that House Howe was done.

Lorelei grinned.

They were wrong.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She nearly spun, an angry rebuke already forming on her lips.

Melcendra cowered.

"That is enough, Milady," she said with a slight quaver in her voice.

Her teacher smiled.

"You have done well."

That smile offended her, Lorelei was tempted to blast it right off the mage's simpering face, but…at the last minute, she held back.

Melcendra knew things, things that her young mistress didn't…

She was still necessary, at least…for now.

Lorelei lowered her hands, the storm faded, the smell of hot stone and ozone remained.

She grinned at her teacher.

"I think I'm ready for my next lesson," she purred.

The other woman nodded and likely would have offered her student something else, but a knock at the large metal door interrupted them.

Lorelei frowned.

"Yes," she called out, barely managing to keep the anger out of her voice. She did not like to be interrupted, not when she was learning her craft.

"It is Jesper, Milady," a familiar voice answered.

"I have news."

The Bann pursed her lips. Part of her wanted to continue her lesson with Melcendra, but at the same time…

"Enter," she said.

Jesper entered the room, a cold smile on his face; he glanced around the room at the scorch marks that now marked the wall.

His smile actually widened.

"I have news from our friend in the Chantry," he purred.

Lorelei paused, her expression becoming thoughtful.

"I think you will want to hear this," Jesper added.

Lorelei nodded. As much as she wished to continue her exploration of magic, she was smart enough to know that magical power would not be enough. She would need political power as well…

She nodded.

It was time to cultivate the latter.

"Leave us," she ordered Melcendra.

The mage nodded and swept past Jesper, but not before glancing one last time at the damage her apprentice had wrought.

Lorelei almost smiled.

Her teacher was learning to fear her, good.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Fear…was an excellent motivator.

Once the mage was gone she motioned for Jesper to follow her. There was no need to discuss such important matters in some dark chamber.

They would adjourn to someplace more…comfortable.

From there she would be in a better position to decide her next move.

From there, she would be able to continue her plan.

IOI

They returned to Lorelei's apartment in the Bann of Amaranthine's estate. Outside she could hear the shout of workmen as the toiled to repair the damage from the darkspawn assault that had rocked their little city months ago. The warden commander could have ordered Amaranthine burned, but had instead chose to defend her, and thereby saved many lives.

Lorelei frowned as she poured herself a drink.

The warden commander was now greatly loved by the people in this city. Yet, Bann Esmerelle had continued to plot against her, plots that would have surely weakened their position.

It was for that reason, that Lorelei had had her removed. It was nothing personal; in fact, if it wasn't for Esmerelle she would never have learned her full heritage. She had owed her for that, but the woman had let her emotions get in the way of business.

House Howe was at a critical juncture, no one, not even the staunchest of allies could jeopardize that.

So, she had had the woman removed.

She and Melcendra had watched as the Bann hanged herself, caught completely under the sway of blood magic. Esmerelle had no control over her limbs as they tied the knot that sent her to the next world, but her mouth had remained untouched.

She had cursed Lorelei, calling her an ungrateful wretch. Esmerelle had believed right up until the end that she deserved everything that Rendon Howe had built, that she would still be able to use Lorelei as her pawn.

When the former Bann had kicked away the chair, when she finally danced at the end of a rope, she had finally found out exactly how wrong she had been.

Lorelei smiled.

That moment had been the beginning of her rise, but now was not the time to dwell on past victories.

Mister Jesper had brought her news, now she needed to find out how best to deal with it.

"Mother Allison's latest scheme to destroy Lady Glass has failed," the young man informed her, "Our friend does not know all the details, but it is clear that both the king and his pet scholar did not dance to the tune the Revered Mother was calling."

"That is not surprising," The Bann said settling into her favorite arm chair, "Everything that we have seen from Glass girl suggests that she is far more cunning than the nobles suspected."

"It seems that way," Mister Jesper agreed, "Our friend is not sure how Mother Allison is going to respond to this, but believes she will likely wait for the Orlesian Ambassador before making another attempt, if she even tries another attempt that is."

Lorelei's brow furrowed with thought.

Would the Revered Mother try again? She suspected that she would. The priestess had invested too much time and effort into dealing with the Glass family to stop now.

Now all that remained was for the Bann to find out the best way to profit from all this chaos. So far, King Alistair had not even tried to intervene, when he did, the fun would likely be over.

Lorelei pursed her lips.

She would need to strike before that happened.

She glanced up at Jesper, he was grinning hungrily, that strange light that she had come to identify with mirth was almost blazing behind his blue eyes.

"Is it time, Milady," he asked, "Is it time for us to get involved in this?"

The Bann sighed.

"Nothing would please me more, Jesper, she admitted, "Unfortunately, we need to be more cautious than that. The Mother's attempt to…remove Lady Glass from court…we will need to tread carefully if we wish to succeed where others have failed."

The young man's eyes flashed hungrily.

"We're going after her too?"

Lorelei nodded.

"And the king…when we are strong enough," she admitted, "His Majesty and his elven whore destroyed my family. They murdered my father in his own estate. I cannot let that pass."

The Bann shook her head.

"I've seen how the king looks at her…Lady Glass. I don't want to simply drive her from the capital, Mister Jesper. I wish to destroy everything she and her family hold dear. Then I want her to curse the day she met Alistair Theirin. I want her to shatter his heart into a thousand pieces. I want him to beg for death."

Lorelei smiled.

"When the time is right," she promised, "We will grant that wish for him."

Jesper's smile widened.

A cruel purr emerged from the Bann's lips. The thought of avenging her noble house always brought a rosy glow to her cheeks.

She would see the king answer for what he had done.

She would see them all answer.

She brushed away such honeyed thoughts. For now…she needed to be cautious, continue to play the loyal subject…

…Until the time was right for her to stop.

Until the time that she could truly claim the Howe name for her own.

"I will need to grow stronger before that day comes," she said, "I will continue to train with Melcendra. You will continue to watch the chantry, keep our friend on it. When we are ready, we will likely need her help."

Lorelei sighed heavily, as she leaned back in her chair.

So much was riding on her slender shoulders now.

She could not afford to be stupid.

"I will need to continue to grow my political power base as well," she admitted, "I will continue to donate money for the rebuilding of Vigil's Keep, that will keep the wardens off my scent for now. I will also need more political allies, perhaps even find a new alliance."

She smiled slyly.

"This means I need to find a proper husband to marry, I'll need someone with just the right connections to help keep things running smoothly."

Jesper glared at that.

He clearly did not think that her marrying anyone was a good idea.

His reaction brought a smirk to her lips.

"Fear not, Mister Jesper," she cooed, "You will always be first in my heart."

Her man said nothing, if his words appeased her, he did not let it show.

His eyes had gone distant, turning cold and angry, predatory.

A shiver ran down her body, not of fear but excitement.

She loved when he got jealous.

Her heart began to pound, but she held her passions in check.

She still had a few more things to iron out with Jesper before they got down to the next stage of their…meeting.

After all, she thought.

Work first, play later.

She gave him her sexiest smile.

"I will prove how important I am to you," she said.

He glared.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," she answered.

"How," he demanded.

She ran a finger down her chest, letting it drift down between her breasts.

Jesper watched her intently; she could almost see the anger starting to shift to lust.

She enjoyed the change.

"We need to be careful," she purred, "We are not yet ready to take on the king."

Jesper nodded watching as her hand slid down, her fingers undoing the fasteners of her gown.

"Keep watching the chantry," she said, "Mother Allison may yet come up with a plan to deal with the Glass girl. We should also keep an eye on her siblings. Quentin and Margaret Glass are sure to have at least some secrets we can exploit."

Jesper nodded, almost mesmerized as she revealed the pale creamy skin of her shoulders.

"We should also try to find out what happened after the Hero of Ferelden died. Why the hero's allies summoned this Revered Mother Dorethea and what did the woman do."

Lorelei rose from her chair, she let her gown fall away. Jesper almost gasped at the sight before him…

…Bann Lorelei… in all her glory.

She smiled at him.

"I trust you can handle all that, Mister Jesper."

He approached her, the two of them stood barely an eye lash apart, he was breathing heavily now, excited.

He smirked down into her eyes.

"You are going to have everything you ever wanted," he purred.

She smiled.

"That is the idea," she said.

He leaned in, kissing her chastely, she sighed, the sound of a man dying of thirst who had finally found water.

"We will get them," he said, "All your enemies."

He smirked.

"Then the real fun can begin."

She was breathing heavily now, she could no longer contain it. It was as much of a storm as what she had released in the cellar.

The storm had finally left the dark horizon.

Now the storm had come.

"Why wait," she cooed.

He pulled her into his arms.

 _Why wait…indeed._


	55. Noble Girls

**Chapter 55: Noble Girls**

The journey back to Denerim had been mostly uneventful. King Alistair and his entourage had left the dwarven city with the fanfare that any noble visit provided. Bhelen and Alistair stood together and shook hands in friendship, reassuring all that the friendship between Denerim and Orzammar remained intact, that the alliance of Ferelden and the dwarven kingdom remained strong.

Bea kept her distance, choosing to remain close to her father and his entourage. No one had said anything about her…liaison with the king. Alistair thought it best, and she agreed, to keep such matters between them…private…at least for now, and publicly that is what they did. Officially, no one knew about their…time together.

Unofficially…everyone knew.

The king's live was always under scrutiny, the fact that he had not taken a woman before her was of note. No one said anything of course, but more than a few were likely grateful that Alistair had finally taken a mistress. It gave the nobles hope for the continuance of the royal line.

Bea ignored it, for the most part. She still had her work, and needed to remain focused on it. For the time being, she and Alistair would…take things slow, lest they startle the forces that Bea had angered in Denerim.

It was the wisest course of action, the most responsible.

In her head, Bea agreed with it, but in her heart…well that was another matter.

As for her family…well…

They had their own ideas.

IOI

"Soooo how was it?"

Lis Cousland rolled her eyes. Part of her wondered when Margaret Glass was going to give it up, while the other part secretly admired her persistence.

The three women were currently walking down one of the many halls in the palace of Denerim. Bea once again dressed in her scholar's robes, Em in a fine gown, and Lis in her battle armor. Servants and nobles cleared a path for the three ladies; murmured comments emerging only after the three had left earshot.

Lis remained alert. House Glass still had enemies here in Denerim.

She was determined not to let any of them surprise her again.

Bea took her sister's comment in stride. She gave that tiny smile of hers, that almost smirk when she was amused about something.

"How was… _what?_ " she asked innocently.

"You know very well 'What,'" her sister replied with a sly smile.

Bea said nothing, choosing to simply continue to walk down the hall.

"I've heard," Em continued, "that wardens are known for their… _prowess_ in more…intimate pursuits."

Her smile widened.

"I'm simply seeking validation of what I have heard. Did he please you? You certainly have been acting like he pleased you, and besides."

Em smiled lecherously.

"You were walking a little funny that last morning in Orzammar, as I recall."

Bea blushed slightly, but still remained coy.

She did not seem inclined to feed either her sister's interest or the rumor mill.

"I'm not sure what you want to hear," the younger Glass sister said coyly.

She turned with a sly smile of her own.

"Nothing happened," she purred.

Em's face dropped into a pout.

"You are no fun," she said morosely, "I know damn well that something happened. Damn it sister, I want details."

She motioned over her shoulder.

"Don't do this to poor Lis," she said, "Lis is dying to know, not as much as I am, but she is still dying, is that not right Lis?"

The warrior woman snorted.

"I'm not losing any sleep over it," she replied.

Em's pout deepened; miffed that her friend would not back her up while she continued her questioning.

Lis almost smiled at the thought.

Friends?

It was a most curious idea.

Growing up, her mother had tried many times to find a clique of noble girls for her daughter to fit into. It was never easy for Lis to find _companions_ that she could…get along with. Most would take one look at her size, or her plain intense face, and immediately ignore her or make her the butt of their jokes…

The Glass sisters…they…did not do that.

It almost brought a shiver down Lis' spine.

There was a time when she would have been jealous of Bea and Em, extremely jealous. They were, in many ways, what Eleanor Cousland had hoped her daughter would be. Petite, pretty, skilled in the feminine arts, the Glass sisters were almost poster girls for what noble daughters should be. In short…they were everything that Lis was not.

The mere thought made her grimace.

How many times had she stared into a mirror as a young girl and hated what she had seen there? How many times had she wished that she had not been born…so different? It had taken a long time, but she had finally come to accept who she was. She had learned to see the value of her size and strength, but that did not mean that some of the insecure girl she had been when she was young did not still remain…

Bea and Em…they did not judge her, they made her feel…like she belonged. That she might just find her place in the world of the nobles, the world that her parents had so desperately hoped that she would one day find acceptance.

She was grateful for that.

Perhaps it was because she had saved their lives, or perhaps it was because she and Bea shed blood together? Every once and a while Em would make some snide comment about her size, but unlike when she was younger, Lis would fire back with some comment of her own, often about Em's promiscuity.

The elder Glass would tell her to shut up, but there would be no heat behind her words. She spoke to Lis as a fellow soldier would; playful jabs were expected among those who existed in close quarters. Neither woman took offense from the barbs.

Bea would roll her eyes and tell them both to act their age, which would leave all three of them grinning.

Lis smiled slightly.

A year ago, had anyone told her she would be friends with any girl close to the royal court, she would have laughed in their faces.

Bea and Em…had changed that, they had changed her world.

It was an intriguing happenstance.

The continued their walk in silence for a few moments. Lis took a deep breath, enjoying the gentle breeze coming from the windows, it had rained in the night, cleansing away the stink of the city, it would not last of course, but for a moment she felt the peace of a world unspoiled.

It did not last.

Em began to speak again.

"We need to find Lis a man," she said conversationally.

The warrior woman swallowed wrong, so shocked was she by her friend's announcement.

Both Glass sisters paused, waiting for their friend to remain control of her faculties.

Lis blushed under their regard.

She should have expected this, she realized. News of Jayne Wulfe's pregnancy was the talk of the court right now. Quentin was beside himself, accepting the congratulations of many lords and ladies. After hearing the news herself, Margaret Glass had become obsessed with the idea of family. She had already begun looking for a suitable match for her brother Arland.

Lis shook her head.

It was only a matter of time before Em set her sights on her, Lis should have expected this.

That did not make her comment any more shocking however, or more…disturbing.

"I…um…" she began, "I do not believe that is a good idea, Em." She said.

Margaret Glass snorted.

"You are a good and noble woman, Lis," she continued, "You shouldn't remain a maiden forever. I'm sure you have heard this before, but you have an obligation to your name, your family."

Lis sighed.

Yes, she had heard that before.

Em pursed her lips.

"Of course," she added quickly, "if…um…if you do not prefer the company of men…"

"Sister!" Bea spat, "That is inappropriate!"

Lis' blush darkened.

"No," she sighed, "it is not that. I like men well enough, but…well…"

The warrior woman shook her head. She motioned to her face.

"This is not the face of a woman noble men want to take to their bed," she said morosely, "Most men find me…intimidating."

Bea reached out a friendly hand; she lightly touched Lis' shoulder.

The warrior was grateful for her support.

She found herself thinking about Rory Gilmore. They had been friends since they were children, and had become drinking companions and fellow soldiers when they had become teenagers…

She smiled slightly.

A few times after a night drinking they had ended up carousing as they had when they were children. During those times Lis had felt stirrings of something…else, a pulling in her gut, a warmth that had spread down her body.

She…she…

She had felt it. Alas, Rory never had, at least he had never showed it if he had. She had remained his childhood chum, and that was it.

It was comforting, but it was also frustrating.

Rory had died defending their family. Lis had never had a chance to tell him how she had felt, to see if he had felt the same. Then…when Howe had captured her, what his men had done to her.

Lis had put such thoughts out of her head; she buried them, along with her slain loved ones.

Em did not seem interested in letting them stay buried.

"Bea and I can help you, you know," she said.

She walked up and gently touched Lis' face, turning her head this way and that.

Lis did not brush her hand away, not wanting to jeopardize their friendship, no matter how uncomfortable this conversation made her.

She fought the urge to fidget.

At that moment, she would much rather of fought a high dragon single handed, that would be better than facing Em's dissecting gaze.

The elder Glass daughter smiled.

"You have a pretty face," she said, "You simply choose not to show it off."

Her smile widened.

"A splash of make-up, a little rouge for your cheeks, perhaps you could even grow your hair out a bit, it would not impede you wearing a battle helmet, but it would help bring out your features."

She stepped back, taking the full measure of the armored warrior.

"Perhaps a nice gown," she murmured, "It would have to be cut just right though, your arms are quite muscular, we should either try to show that off or make it less noticeable. We want you to look your best after all."

Lis looked down at herself, suddenly feeling like that self-conscious girl again.

"I never…um…looked good in a gown," she admitted.

"You just haven't found the right one," Em said.

Bea smiled weakly.

"We won't force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with Lis," she promised.

"Of course we won't," Em agreed, "Bea and I do know about this kind of thing, even if Bea does not show it much."

"Hey," Bea said with a frown.

"No offense, sister," she added quickly, "All I'm saying is that we can help Lis. I'm sure you agree."

Bea frowned slightly. She looked back and forth between her sister and friend.

Finally, she gave Lis a weak smile.

"Em is not wrong, Lis," she admitted.

Lis shook her head, still unsure.

"Men have always been intimidated by me," she said morosely.

Now Bea did not respond.

"You just haven't met the right man…"

"Yet," Em added.

"Yes, yet," Bea agreed, "Some men might consider you a challenge."

Lis sighed.

"Great," she said, "I'm a challenge."

Em laughed gently.

"It is a compliment, Lis," she said.

Lis shook her head.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she said.

"Only one way to find out," Em said turning, "We will work on this later. We will ask Bann Shianni to help us. She has been dealing with a lot of well to do men lately, maybe she might have an idea of which men here in the capital might be able to keep up with you.

Lis turned to Bea; her friend gave her a sympathetic look, but did not try to stop her older sister.

Lis frowned.

She knew the Glass sisters meant well, but she had been down this road before.

It had not worked out very well then; she doubted that it would work now.

She was a warrior, first and foremost. She had learned to live with that. The fact that Bea and Em had hope that she might be more was…encouraging, but at the same time.

She shook her head.

It was said that Fereldan men loved strong woman, that only Fereldan woman gave birth to real men.

Of course, those women looked like women.

She shook her head.

They did not look like her.

She looked down at her gauntleted hands, wondering if it was a good idea to even try to hope.

It was then that they heard the sound of angry voices from a room down the hall, that and the sound of breaking crockery.

Even the most jaded noble turned, several servants twittered nervously.

Bea and Em both looked at each other.

The sounds were coming from their destination.

They were coming from where Bann Shianni had told them to meet her.

The Glass sisters picked up the pace, with Lis one step behind them.

Lis steadied herself, she had no idea what they were walking into, but if it was a fight.

She smiled slightly.

If it was a fight, she would be ready.

Fights were something she could do.

Fights were something she could handle.

They were so much better than gowns or make up.

Fights were something she could handle.

She understood them.


	56. Artistic Expression

**Chapter 56: Artistic Expression**

Different.

If there was one word to describe Bea's life at court since their return from Orzammar, it was different.

She could still not say for certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

As she, Lis, and Em followed the angry voices, more than a few passers-by whispered when they thought she was out of earshot.

The scholar frowned.

It was not hard to imagine what was being said.

When her and Alistair's relationship had been nothing but a rumor the men and women and court had treated it all as a joke, or a means to slander her work or family, now that they were **actually** together, the whole…feeling of the court had changed.

No longer was Bea mocked, not when she was anywhere close. People who had never even thought to talk to her were now sending emissaries, with this suggestion or that idea. No doubt hoping that she might pass on what was being said to the king.

The mere thought made her shake her head.

The fact that she and Alistair were now… _together_ , did not mean that she was going to start trying to control him. Alistair was king, he was **her** king.

She had no desire to influence him, if he asked her opinion, she would gladly offer it, but try to manipulate him, no…

She almost laughed at the very idea of it.

She was not that type of woman.

Father would have disagreed, of course, Quentin and Em as well. To her family, Alistair was simply an opportunity to expand their growing power base. He had rewarded their family well, but Bea had learned long ago, when it came to her father and power…

…Enough was never enough.

It was not a slight against him, merely a truth, an inconvenient truth, perhaps, but a truth none the less. It was also something that was to be expected. Any noble family would pursue greater power while one of their number… _fraternized_ with a king; it was to be expected…

It was just something that Bea had to live with; it was just part of the role she now had to play.

A role she was still figuring out truth be told. One thing was for certain.

Any relationship with Alistair would not be a _normal_ relationship.

She pursed her lips.

Since their return from Orzammar, she and Alistair had barely spoken. Problems had sprung up in the south. Bandits were raiding near Gwaren, and there had also been reports of a growing band of soldiers attacking military garrisons not far from the elven territories near Ostagar.

She was likely not supposed to know that last part, but given her experiments in the Hinterlands, Mister Rich had thought it best that she know, just in case they needed to send word to her staff to prepare to move if they needed to.

Still, she was not worried, she had faith in Alistair. The King would restore things to normal. Of course, all the recent problems meant that the two of them had had no chance to have anytime alone together since returning to the capital. They had shared a few quick kisses outside her quarters, which was all. They had had no chance to be…intimate since their return to Denerim.

That…bothered her a little.

Old insecurities tried to spring up, suggesting that since he had had her, he was done with her, that their time together had been nothing but a fling to sate his curiosity. Alistair was not like that, at least, she did not _think_ he was like that…

She _hoped_ that he was **not** like that.

The mere thought made her frown.

It would not have been the first time that a king had used a girl on his court, used and then tossed her away. She liked to think she was smarter than that, but…

Renewed angry voices distracted her from her fears. The y seemed to be coming from the hall where Bann Shianni had asked to meet them. The elven noble had wanted them to see something.

From the sound of things, whatever Shianni had wanted them to see was not going well.

Perhaps she would be able to do something, help smooth over whatever was going on; at least she hoped that she could.

Father said being involved with a king brought new responsibilities.

Perhaps it was time to test them.

IOI

"It is a _travesty_ ," Shianni snarled, "An **insult!** "

The slender man, Elden of Dragon' Peak by name, sighed heavily.

"It is _art_ , Milady," he said, "Artists typically take license in the creating of a new piece. I…"

The elf almost growled.

The man still did not get it.

She had commissioned him to create a painting to honor her cousin, to make sure that no one forgot what Kallian Tabris had done in the service of not only Thedas but her own people as well.

This…this eye sore failed on both accounts, and she would damn well make sure that the man knew that.

"This is _**not**_ what we agreed upon," she said interrupting him. She pointed at the painting he had brought her.

"This…this…thing is an insult to my family. I…I have half a mind to…"

"Is there a problem, Your Ladyship?"

Shianni turned recognizing the sound of Lis Cousland's voice.

Good, she thought…

Maybe I can convince the good giantess to break this fool in half!

She turned to see the Glass sisters and Lady Cousland enter the hall. Bea led the way causing more than a few nobles to move quickly out of the way, lest they do something to offend the king's lover.

Shianni almost smiled.

Perhaps there was an opportunity here.

"Lady Bea," she said loud enough so that all could hear who she was addressing, "Thank the Maker you have come, perhaps you can help this fool see sense."

The man huffed slightly at her statement.

"There is no need for name calling, Bann Shianni," he said, "If you are unhappy with my work, I can…"

"Yes," Shianni said interrupting him again, "I am unhappy, _**very**_ unhappy."

Bea frowned slightly, looking back and forth between the man and elven noble.

"What seems to be the trouble here?" she asked.

Shianni's eyes narrowed.

"That," she said pointing at the large paining behind them, her elven ears lowering in anger "that is the problem."

IOI

The Glass sisters and Lady Cousland both turned to the painting. It was quite large, almost as long and as wide as a carriage. The scene it depicted was that of a terrible battle, red skies and lightning in the distance, a great stone tower rose in the back ground, the Ferelden flag whipping in the breeze, in the foreground a lone figure faced down a great dragon with black and purple scales. Both the dragon and the warrior were surrounded by misshapen creatures, shadowy shapes that seemed to be everywhere. They seemed to be trying to block the warrior's advance.

Bea nodded, she may not have been an artist, but she knew good work when she saw it, the painting was quite well done.

She was not sure why the elf was so angry.

"I call it ' _the Fall of Urthemiel'_ ," the man in the blue robes said with no small amount of pride, "A gift to honor the Hero of Ferelden."

Shianni glared at him.

"It would have been," the elven noble spat, "Except for the fact that you had not taken…license with what I wanted."

Bea took a closer look at the painting it was quite well done, but then she looked at the lone warrior in the foreground, the one battling the Archdemon.

"Who is that?" She asked the artist.

"That is the hero," he responded, "Kallian Tabris."

Em leaned in closer, she squinted her eyes slightly.

"Why is she wearing chantry robes?" Bea's older sister inquired.

"Those aren't chantry robes," the artist said, "That is a cloak."

Lis titled her head slightly.

"They certainly look like chantry robes to me."

Shianni gave the man a knowing smirk.

"You see," she said, "You see, everyone can see what you have done!"

"I've done nothing," the artist repeated, "I've merely…"

"Where are her ears," Bea asked.

The man paused.

"What?"

"Where are the hero's elven ears," the scholar repeated.

"They are right there." The man said pointing.

Bea's frown deepened.

"I can't really see them."

"They are mostly covered up by her hair," the artist replied.

Shianni glared at him.

"I provided you with a sketch of my cousin," she said, "Kallian's ears were never so small that her hair covered them up, and she certainly never wore chantry robes!"

They are not chantry robes," the man said with an exasperated sigh, "It is her cloak, and her hair might have covered her ears in the middle of a battle!"

"My cousin's ears were never that small," Shianni growled. "She…"

"It looks like a chantry sister is fighting the Archdemon," Em said with a slight frown. "I know that the Sister Leliana accompanied the hero, but her hair was red, not blonde."

Lis glanced down at the artist.

"Why did you not draw the hero in a suit of armor, it would have been more accurate."

"I was trying to focus on the hero's innate goodness," the man replied.

Shianni laughed at that.

"You obviously never knew my cousin very well," she said, "She was brave, but she would never have claimed she had…innate goodness."

The elven Bann glared at the man.

"Serah Elden," she growled, "You came very highly recommended, all that I talked to said that you were a master of your craft, but this…this…"

She shook her head.

"I can't have this hanging in the chantry for other elves to see! What do you think they would say if they saw this? What would our children say?"

Bea frowned.

She wished that she could say that Shianni was wrong, but she knew better. She had been to the Chantry on the grounds of the University of Orlais, she had seen the murals there, and understood what the Bann was saying.

There had been a time when elves had been accepted in human artwork, but since the Exalted March on the Dales, all images of elven heroes had been either lost or destroyed. Shartan, Andraste's elven disciple, had had his ears cropped in one mural, now he appeared to be just another human disciple. The warden Garahel, the hero of the last Blight, had no statues or other monuments honoring his sacrifice against the last Archdemon. His name was known, but only the wardens honored him as an elven hero.

Bea sighed.

She knew that there were those in Thedas who had no desire to see the elves rise above where they were now. Alistair, by choosing to name Shianni Bann of the Alienages, had challenged that.

Of course, that did not mean that the conservatives in Thedas would not try and undercut what he had done. If this painting did find a place of honor somewhere in Denerim, it would be both an insult to the elves, and one day a means to dispute the fact that Kallian Tabris had slain the Archdemon.

 _The hero was not elven,_ some future scholar might say, _just look at this painting of her, she is clearly not of elven blood._

The scholar shook her head.

It was not right. It deserved to be.

" _ **MAKE WAY FOR THE KING!"**_

Everyone in the chamber dropped to one knee at the Herald's announcement, outside, nobles and servants moved aside to permit Alistair's passing.

Bea glanced up, smiling as Alistair entered the room. Wilbur Rich followed in his wake, holding his ever present ledger to his chest.

The King approached the ladies and the Artist.

He glanced down at Shianni with an amused smile.

"I think I heard you shouting up in the highest tower, Shianni," he said with a slight smirk.

The elf blushed.

"Sorry, Your Majesty," she said, "I was…having a disagreement with the artist I hired."

Alistair turned to Bea.

"Milady Bea," he said offering her his hand.

Smiling she took it, and let him pull her to her feet, and to a place at his side.

She glanced around; many had taken notice of the king's act. It sent a message, a very powerful message.

He looked down on her.

"Sooo," he said with a merry smile, "What is going on here?"

Bea spoke up before Shianni; she did not wish the elf's anger to cloud the matter.

"Shianni was just showing us the painting she had done; it shows Kallian Tabris' victory over the Archdemon."

Alistair nodded and approached the painting.

He frowned slightly when he saw it.

"Where is Kallian?" he asked.

The artist risked a glance up and pointed.

"Right there, Your Majesty," he said.

The King frowned.

"Mister Rich take a look at this," he said.

The secretary stuck his head over the king's shoulder.

"Why is she wearing chantry robes?" Rich asked.

"It is her cloak," the artist answered, trying not to sound exasperated.

"Hm," Alistair said, "I don't remember Kallian owning a cloak like that," he murmured, "By the way, where are her ears?"

"I think they are right there, Your Majesty," Rich said pointing.

Alistair blinked.

"Oh, there they are," he said, "Little small for Kallian's ears though, and I should know."

Bea put a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

She was curious to see if the artist would try to talk his way out of this one.

Not surprising, he stayed silent, not wishing to alienate their king, a king who had a special fondness in his heart for the fallen Hero of Ferelden.

"I think you can see my problem, Your Majesty," Shianni said, "I wanted this to be a tribute to my cousin, yet…I don't even recognize her in it."

Alistair nodded.

He looked down at the artist.

"Are you skilled at making sketches, Good Ser?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Come to my chamber after evening meal," he said, "I will do my best to describe Kallian for you. I want any tribute to her to be the best that it can be."

"A wise idea," Your Majesty," Rich said with a smile, "Would you not agree, Lady Bea?"

"Of course," she said.

Rich's smile turned more predatory as he looked down at the artist.

"I understand that desire to make this your work, ser," the secretary said coldly, "and I do not mean to tell you your job, but…if you are doing something to honor an elven hero, you should make sure that the hero looks well…elven."

Rich looked at the king.

"Lady Tabris was your friend. We should do our best to honor her, yes?"

"Agreed," Alistair said looking once more on the portrait when he looked away a bit of anger and sorrow flashed across his face.

When he turned to the artist again, the king's expression had turned stern.

"I trust you can understand?"

The artist's head bobbed as he nodded.

"Good," Alistair said.

He looked over at Em, Lis, and Shianni.

"I'm afraid I must borrow Lady Bea for a while, Ladies," he said, "I hope you don't mind?"

A chorus of "no" and "not at all" greeted him.

Smiling, Alistair and Bea left the chamber, Rich trailing a respectful distance behind them.

Bea's heart fluttered with a mix of happiness and nerves.

"Are we going anywhere in particular, Your Majesty?" she inquired.

He blushed slightly.

"We have both been so busy. I thought we could use a little quiet time, to ourselves."

She smiled and blushed herself.

"Unfortunately, we do have a little work to take care of first."

"Oh," Bea said, her curiosity now peaked.

"Chancellor Eamon received something rather interesting today; he wanted you to take a look at it."

"Of course, Alistair," she said with a curt nod, now all business.

"Whatever you need," she answered.

The king smiled warmly.

"I knew I could count on you."

Bea smiled warmly in return.

"Always."


	57. A Message

**Chapter 57: A Message**

She had hoped that they would have a day to themselves. She had hoped that they would be able to shut themselves away for a few hours and enjoying being…well…them, to continue what they began in Orzammar, to explore what it meant to be…them.

Bea frowned.

Alas, that idea was not meant to be.

Alistair said he had needed her help, and he had not been lying. Now she stood in Alistair's small office off the throne room. Mister Rich, Chancellor Eamon, Arl Teagan, her father, Quentin, and Lady Jayne all clustered around her…

…All awaiting her report.

Bea took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. She had still not figured out entirely what had come to pass, time was required to figure out such questions, for now she had only theories.

When dealing with such matters, theories were not often enough.

It had begun early this afternoon. Chancellor Eamon had been out of the day, seeing to some matter or another on the docks. A package had arrived for him, wrapped securely in a cloth cover, and secured with twine, with instructions for the Chancellor to open it immediately upon his arrival.

An elven servant, whether through good fortune or bad luck, had decided to open the package for the Chancellor, so it would be ready for him to see when he arrived. It contained a rather large flowering plant with wide leafy fronds, and giant sweet smelling blossoms bursting with color, bright red, orange, yellow, blue, and violet.

The elf had leaned in; he smelled the largest of the blossoms…and got sprayed with a thick cloud of pollen and spores, temporarily blinding him. The servant had staggered into the hall, calling for the guards; he fainted just outside the door. The guards recoiled at the odor now coming from the room, the smell of burnt flesh and decay.

The guards had fallen back, pulling the servant to safety. They could not find the chancellor, so they sent word to the king, who quickly sought out Bea. As both a botanist, and a favorite of the royal court, she was most qualified to discover what had happened.

She had only had to enter the hall outside the Chancellor's office to deduce what had happened; with little or no explanation she had taken charge.

No one was to enter the Chancellor's office. Word was also sent to Ambassador Petra of the Circle of Magi. Bea had also had some of her tools brought down from her lab in the tower. She did not enter the room until she had been wearing protective gear for both her mouth and eyes.

Alistair had been understandably worried, he could tell that Bea thought that there was at least some danger to him; otherwise she would not have ordered the room sealed.

She did her best to assure him that the only danger was to those who did not know what they were dealing with. She promised he would have a full report once she had seen to the plant, and arranged for treatment of the elven servant who had been exposed.

The scholar stressed that no one was to enter the Chancellor's room for at least one day and a night, and that was only after the plant was removed, for safeties sake.

The king had agreed. He might have been a warrior, but this was one battlefield that he did not know.

He needed to trust her judgment.

Eamon was understandably annoyed when he returned to find his private quarters blocked off. He worried about the security of his papers and documents, many of them containing state secrets important to the kingdom. Both the King and Arl Glass assured him that Bea was being discreet. She was dealing with whatever problem had sprung up from the plant's presence; she was not interested in the Chancellor's things.

Eamon still shook his head.

"It is ridiculous," he said, "Hiding from a plant."

Rich had given him a cruel smile.

"A plant that rendered a young man unconscious," the secretary reminded him, "a plant that did Maker knows what when the boy disturbed it."

Rich's smile widened.

"If you would like to know first-hand, just go up to the office and see for yourself. You might end up in worse shape than that poor boy. I'm sure the country wouldn't mind, we would get along just as well without you."

Alistair frowned.

"Gentlemen…please," he said.

Rich smirked but fell silent.

Eamon glared at the man, but said nothing he was still unhappy, but…

He was willing to allow Bridget Glass to complete he examination.

They did not see the scholar until early in the evening, though she did send Ambassador Petra with a message, and some rather foul smelling tea.

The Circle mage smiled apologetically.

According to the note, all who had been in close proximity to the Chancellor's office needed to drink a full mug of the concoction the mages had prepared. The boy who had been sprayed by the plant would have to drink at least five draughts of the tea over the next two days.

Bea's letter assured the nobles that the concoction was not harmful, beyond protecting them against the pollen and spores the plant in the Chancellor's quarters released.

She also stressed the importance that none of them failed to drink the tea, it was a matter of life and death if they did not.

Later that evening, Bea finally joined them, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her face covered in sweat.

Alistair smiled glad to see she was alright.

She returned his smile and made sure that they had all gotten her message and drank the medicine she had provided.

When she was sure that they had. She made her report.

It did not have as many answers as she would have liked, but it had given them the right questions.

Sometimes, that was for the best.

IOI

"The plant is from Seheron," she began, "I won't bore you with the scientific name, in the common tongue it is referred to as a Dragonfire Blossom, both from the bright colors of the flower, and the smell that is released when it sprays its spores.

She placed a book before the nobles; the page was opened to a picture of the plant in question, the sketch showed dozens of the colorful blossoms emerging from the skeleton of a man, growing through the empty ribcage, and out of the nose, mouth, and eye sockets.

Bea gave them a wan smile.

"It is also known as grave shower, given the state it leaves its victims in."

Eamon looked down at the picture, his eyes narrowing.

"So it is poisonous?" he inquired.

Bea chuckled fatalistically.

"That is putting it mildly, Your Grace," she answered, "The grave shower plant is a predator of the flora kingdom, a very nasty one. In Seheron, there are said to be fields of corpses covered with these plants, corpses of both man and animal. They thrive on the gasses released when a body decays. The spores get into the body, and kill within a matter of hours. They cause the lungs to seize up, they close the throat, and cause its victim to choke and die in a matter of hours of exposure."

She shook her head.

"The University of Orlais first heard of this plant a few years back. The House of Riposte had managed to get their hands on a body infected with these spores. The first few deaths were attributed to natural causes, the bodies were burned before anyone could examine them, then one of the blossoms turned up at one of the victims homes."

Bea quirked her lips, it had been the first time the college of botany had gotten any official notice. The empire had been in an uproar about these strange plants. One of her professors had even gotten a personal audience with Empress Celene.

Fortunately for them, the college had come through.

"Thanks to the work of the Botanist Inez, as well as some writings from Tevinter scholars, we were able to come up with tea that you have all just drunk. It neutralizes any spores that might have made it into your throats, and will serve to stop any of the plants taking root in your bodies."

She shivered slightly, and turned to the Chancellor.

"Be grateful that you were not the one who had been sprayed in the face by our little friend. The boy who did will live, but as I said he will need to drink quite a bit of my medicine draught, just to be sure."

Eamon said nothing, no doubt considering what she had told him.

"Lady Glass," Arl Teagan said raising his hand.

"Yes, Your Lordship," she replied.

"How common are these plants, could there be more of them in the city?"

"Doubtful," she answered, "The corpse shower is a good killing tool; the reason that is, is that no one really knows much about it. The Assassin's league in Orlais would not seek to spread such a tool around."

"So you think it is Orlais, you think _they_ sent this?" Eamon asked.

"I think that a _professional_ sent it," she responded diplomatically. Having spent time in Orlais, she did not wish to point any fingers, nor did she want to be the one to start accusations flying that could lead to all-out war.

"I'm sure that Orlais is not the only place you can find these…things, Your Grace," her father added, "I'm sure the Antivan Crows have access to them as well, and they carry out assassinations all over Thedas."

"All that I can say, Your Grace," Bea chimed in, "Is that someone with both wealth and power sent you this deadly little gift. Though given current circumstances, it was not the smartest idea in the world."

It was Lady Jayne that responded next, Bea's sister-in-law had been very quiet since the meeting had begun, at first he presence had been tolerated at court, because Quentin had not been available, but slowly, she had managed to gain a presence all her own, not the least of which because she was carrying an heir to both Denerim, and West Hill.

"Which circumstances to you mean," she asked in that cool voice of hers, the icy blonde's expression rarely changed, even when she was surprised.

"Me," Bea replied, "Not to make myself sound overly important, but given my history, the use of this plant was foolish. As I said, we studied them at the University. We know how to identify and counter the spores…"

The scholar shook her head.

"Someone with the connections to find a Grave Shower should have known that. It was a sloppy attempt."

Teagan, who had been leaning against the back wall, lightly tapping his finger with his chin, finally rejoined the conversation.

"Perhaps it was not an assassination attempt," he said, "Perhaps someone was trying to send a message."

All eyes fell on the Arl of Redcliffe.

Alistair frowned slightly.

"You have an idea about that, Milord?"

"A theory only," he responded, "As Lady Glass said, she knew all about this plant, but by leaving one to find the person who sent it pretty much guaranteed that anyone infected would be cured…"

Teagan pinned Bea with a cool stare.

"Perhaps this was a message for _you_ , letting you know that you are not the only one who knows about your craft. If my brother died, you would have been the prime suspect."

Both Arl Glass and his son glared at the lord of Redcliffe.

"Are you accusing my sister of something, ser?" Quentin Glass demanded.

"Not at all," he said, "Merely trying to puzzle out what was the point of this attempt. As Lady Bea said, given the tools available to us, it was sloppy, and doomed to fail."

Teagan looked at his brother, a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Perhaps someone wishes to drive a wedge between you and Alistair, brother," he said, "The…fondness His Majesty has for Lady Glass is well known. If she was implicated in your death…?"

"It would further divide the royal court," Rich volunteered, "The king would no doubt be pressured to remove the Glass family from court."

Alistair glared at the thought of that.

"It would take more than flimsy accusations to get me to send the Glass family away, Mister Secretary," he said, "they had have done nothing wrong."

"Rumor needs little evidence, Your Majesty," Eamon sighed, "As you well know."

Bea frowned.

So far the only people being targeted by her enemies had been her and her family, if whoever was behind this had decided to take things to the next level, and started targeting the king and his allies…?"

The scholar shook her head.

It seemed that it had not taken long for someone to decide that the king was as much as a threat as her and her family.

Not for the first time she wondered if it would have been better had she and Alistair remained just friends.

Alistair glanced her way, perhaps guessing what she might be thinking.

He gave her a warm smile and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She smiled slightly, grateful for his support.

Alistair took a deep breath and sighed.

"Unfortunately," he began, "there is no real way to keep this quiet. I will address the court myself tomorrow, explain what happened here."

He smiled again at Bea.

"I will inform the court of Lady Glass' aid, and do my best to reassure everyone that attacks such as this will not be tolerated."

"A wise decision, Your Majesty," Chancellor Eamon agreed, "But shall we do with this…plant."

Alistair smiled slightly.

"I prefer to keep it safely locked away, just in case; our scholars might have some use for studying it. Is that not right, Bea?"

She nodded.

"Examining it might yield better results as far as protecting people against any future attacks using this type of flower."

Alistair nodded.

"Then it is decided then," he said, "I think we can call it an evening."

The group began to break up, returning to their own plans.

"Chancellor Eamon?" Bea called out.

The man paused.

"Outside of a body, the spores die off quickly, your office should be safe again, by tomorrow morning."

Eamon nodded.

"Thank you, Lady Glass," he said, "We are fortunate to have someone with your skills in the palace."

She nodded and offered him a quick bow.

He returned the nod, and slipped out of the room.

Rich waited until everyone else had left, just in case Alistair had any additional orders for him. Having none, Alistair motioned for him to take his leave as well.

The Secretary nodded, and slipped back to his chambers.

Bea was about to join him, but Alistair refused to release her hand. She paused and gave him a curious look.

The king smiled shyly.

"Quite a day, huh?"

She nodded.

"I suppose so."

He reached up and touched her cheek, she sighed, leaning into his touch.

His smile widened.

"You look a little tired," he purred.

"I…I suppose I am," she cooed.

She gave him a sly smile.

"I could also use a bath."

Alistair blushed at the thought of that.

"That could be…um…useful."

Bea smirked as she slipped out into the hall, pausing in the doorway.

She laughed nervously.

"I…um…ah…wouldn't mind some…ah… _company_."

Alistair grinned and blew out the last candle in the room.

It seemed his night was not quite over yet. After all, he had promised the lady a little time together.

He let her lead him by the hand back to his quarters.

He was nothing if not true to his word. And that was one message he was happy to send…

…more than happy.


	58. The King's Justice

**Chapter 58: The King's Justice**

As summer turned to fall, Bea' education continued.

Most of the time, when she was not in her labs, she was in the company of Lady Isolde and her circle of lady friends. The Chancellor's wife was determined to prepare the scholar for what it meant to be the king's lady. She tried to drink it all in, lessons of court etiquette, the proper greetings for this dignitary or that, and oh so many suggestions of when to speak and when not to.

Usually when she left her time with the Lady her head was spinning. She had not had such intense noble instruction since she was a young girl, and still the lessons continued.

"If you are to become more than simply the king's mistress," Isolde would say in that thick Orlesian capital accent of hers, "Then you must be ready for any circumstance."

At night, she would flop down on her bed with an exhausted sigh.

Isolde was enough to try the patience one of the Maker's own disciples. How she was going to get through it and come out the other side, even she did not know.

Fortunately, at least once a week Alistair would visit her chambers, or summon her to his. They did not always make love at these meetings, sometimes it was simple talk, or a late night walk in the gardens, more often than not she would lay on his bed and would massage her shoulders and neck, the pressure of his strong yet gentle hands washing away the stresses of the day, and the sound of Lady Isolde's grating voice.

That was a pleasure in itself, and she had come to treasure it.

She had also come to welcome letters from Talia. Her tranquil assistant had remained with the plants they had moved to the Hinterlands, and sent weekly reports about the plants growth, any changes that had occurred after their being planted, and if they appeared as healthy as they had in the lab.

Bea knew that with cold weather coming, the plants would need to be watched even more carefully, some would die no doubt, but since most had been created using plants that returned year after year, she hoped that at least some would survive. Talia had also sent her soil samples as well as seeds collected from some of the strongest survivors of their little garden. It remained to be seen what would happen in the spring when warm weather returned, would the plant seeds take in the soil, would they bloom again, or would the time in the tainted soil and winter cold kill them?

She would have to wait and see. She could not speed up time.

She would simply have to wait until spring.

When she was not working, with the chancellor's wife, or Alistair, she tried to stay connected with the allies she had made here in the capital. Ambassador Petra, Wilbur Rich, and Lis Cousland remained her staunchest supporters. They continued to speak on her behalf as they moved through their own circles of influence, building on the good will she had tried to maintain with the rest of the royal court.

One crisp cool fall morning, it seemed that that time was starting to pay off.

Chancellor Eamon had sent for her, asked her to attend to the king while he held court. It was a most unusual request, but she could not say no to the chancellor. She found herself sitting on the dais next to the king her own chair was slightly lower than his, but higher than the chair reserved for Eamon when he attended court.

She wore her finest robes, and listened intently as this person or that came to Alistair for either aid or guidance.

After the king had dismissed the court for the day, Wilbur Rich had pulled her aside.

The secretary was **more** than pleased.

"You have done well today, Milady," he informed her, "The chancellor had clearly decided that it is time to formally introduce you to the royal court."

Bea's brow had furrowed.

"Hasn't that already happened?" she inquired.

Rich chuckled.

"You were introduced as a scholar," he said, "The chancellor now wishes the court to see you as one of them, and perhaps soon…even more."

Rich's oily smile widened.

"I believe he wishes you to be seen as more than that king's… _paramour_. I believe he wants the court to get used to you as a member of the royal family."

Bea considered that, it sent her stomach into nervous flip flops.

 _Me, she thought, as a member of the royal family?_

 _Oh Maker!_

 _What have I gotten myself into?_

She tried not to think too hard on the topic, if that was what was to come, so be it.

She cared for Alistair; she cared deeply for him, but…

She sighed.

But…

 _Was she ready to take the next step?_

 _Was she ready to become **more**?_

She spent time with her own family, trying to come to the proper answer to that question. Most of that time involved spending time with Jayne Wulfe, and her sister.

Bea shook her head.

The difference between those two was night and day.

Margaret remained as open as ever, seeking her own proper match. Jayne was quiet almost to the point of shyness, she said little about her marriage to Quentin, in fact, she said little about Quentin period…

Quentin Glass was a man in love with the pleasure of the capital. It was rare that he saw his wife, except for official functions or on special occasions. Even as she grew heavy with their child, the two remained distant.

Bea noticed the sad look on the blonde's face, how she turned to working with Arl Glass to keep herself occupied.

Bea found herself feeling sorry for the woman. Would it really kill Quentin to be at least a little affectionate with his wife?

Jayne did not complain, but she did not really need to, Bea and Em had eyes, they could see.

Jayne was lonely, and she should not have been at this time.

She deserved more.

Arland returned to the capital briefly, but kept his distance from the palace and the Arl's estate, choosing instead to focus on his duty.

Bea had dinner with him once during that time. He remained… closed off, not wishing to discuss their family at all. He did not even question her about her relationship with Alistair.

It was quite unusual. Arland had always been so attentive with his siblings, he had needed to be, father being so busy all the time.

Now…he seemed like a completely different person, a stranger.

Bea did not know what to make of that.

Lis, being a fellow soldier, tried to get through to him, on his sisters' behalf of course, but Arland remained elusive, refusing to be drawn into any conversation.

He left without even coming to say goodbye to any of them. Their father's opinion of his eldest grew colder, while Bea just continued to worry.

What was going on with Arland, and how could she help?

It was one of many questions she was wrestling with, but now she found herself summoned to Alistair's study, she would once again be called upon to attend to the king while he held court; a matter had recently come up. A matter that Rich felt was necessary for her growth as a member of the court.

A case had been brought by the southern nobles, a successful freeholder in South Reach; named Malcolm Langston had been accused of crimes against his fellows, now the king would have to decide what to do.

Bea glanced over at her love, and at Mister Rich standing beside him.

The secretary had briefed both her and Alistair before this meeting, it was far from the cut and dry matter that some nobles hoped it might be.

The king sighed, to Bea's eyes; he looked troubled, which was not surprising.

Troubles were brewing in the south, what was happening today was only part of it, symptom of the true problem.

Now, they needed to deal with it…

…Before it got out of hand.

IOI

"We cannot trust this case to a Magistrate, Your Majesty," Wilbur Rich said.

"You **will** need to make a decision."

Alistair sighed, part of him had been dreading this case since Rich had first warned him of it. It seemed simple, at first, nobles complaining about one of their more successful neighbors, but it was far more than that.

This matter had to be handled delicately, winter was coming and with the Orlesians choosing to decrease their recent aid package to Ferelden, trouble could spring up anywhere when it came to matters of food and land.

If the Langston case was about anything, it was food and land.

"The nobles have accused young Langston of inciting the Dalish elves in the south to attack his neighbors," Rich had informed them; "Given the closeness of his holdings to the lands you granted the elves, it is a possibility."

Alistair shook his head. He found it hard to believe that after everything he had done to give their Dalish allies a place of their own…

Why would they turn on the crown?

Why would they risk destroying everything they had won?

Why?

He had no answers.

"Have there been many attacks?" Alistair had asked.

"Some," Rich informed him, "Though whether it is the elves doing, or our nobles is in dispute, many were unhappy that you chose to give land to the elves, and even more are unhappy that they seem to be making those lands work for them."

"So they are jealous?" Bea inquired.

"More than likely," Rich agreed.

The secretary sighed.

"There is more," he continued, "The fact that Mister Langston's farms are producing far more than his competitors, possibly because of elven help. It is known that the young man lets the Dalish hunt on his land, and that he is openly trading with them. Some nobles see that as a betrayal."

Bea frowned.

"I thought the Dalish were still our allies? Isn't it normal to trade with your allies?"

"Once again, yes," Rich sighed, "But this is complicated, as you both know."

Alistair and Bea looked at each other.

The king sighed.

 _When were things not complicated?_

"Mister Langston is…odd, most of the nobles that knew his family never expected him to take up his father's lands."

"Odd," Alistair said, "Odd, how exactly?"

Rich shrugged.

"Most Ferelden freeholders are former knights, or third or fourth children of noble families. Gregor Langston, the young man's father, was a well-known warrior, a strong man; his people knew that he knew how to protect his lands. His son…not so much, most people view him as a milksop, no military skill, and behaves…in a way not readily accepted by his peers, in a word…odd."

Alistair frowned.

"So what am I supposed to do? Do I rule against this man because he is…odd?"

"Some might expect that of you," the secretary answered, "However, given the success Malcolm Langston has had, he would be a powerful ally, provided he can keep the wolves from his door. We could help him with that, but…"

Rich sighed.

"But in helping him, we risk alienating his fellow lords, the ones who have brought the charges against him?" Bea murmured.

The secretary nodded.

Alistair threw up his hands.

"What you are telling me is that there is no good answer to this case?"

"Politics can be like that sometimes, Your Majesty," Rich replied, "If we _help_ the nobles, they might end up causing more problems with the Dalish. If we _support_ Mister Langston, then we risk creating a powerbase for your rivals in the south, a power base that just might expand the problems we have been having with raiders down there."

Alistair sighed.

He had heard about the raiders in the south. All inquiries he had brought before the southern lords suggested that the problem was not as bad as he had heard, of course, if some of the nobles were behind the raiders, they might be just trying to keep him distracted while they use their pawns to secure more lands for themselves, and settle old grudges.

The thought of it almost gave him a headache.

Rich shook his head, yet his smile returned.

"It is sad is it not," he said, "How quickly gratitude fades. You helped save these people, now two years later they are doing what they can to weaken your reign."

The secretary sighed.

"Greed overrides gratitude far too quickly in our times."

Bea frowned at him; she took Alistair's hand in hers, and gave it a supportive squeeze.

He smiled slightly, taking comfort in that simple act.

He glanced down at her.

She smiled slightly.

"People are still good Alistair," she said, "You can't forget that."

He chuckled.

"Is it alright if I want to throw more than a few off the top of the highest tower in the palace every once and a while?"

Bea gave him that little smile of hers.

'That is to be expected I think," she said.

Rich cleared his throat.

"Never the less, Your Majesty, we need to make a decision, our people expect the king's justice."

Rich pursed his lips.

"How shall we proceed?"

Alistair sighed.

As much as he trusted Rich's advice, and Bea's encouragement, he recognized the need to take a closer look at this matter himself, which meant he needed to speak with parties most directly involved.

He sighed.

This would likely be interesting.

"Have Mister Langston summoned to the capital," he said, "I want to hear what he has to say for himself."

Rich nodded and gave his king a slight bow.

"It will be done, Your Majesty, but a freeholder might not wish to leave his lands so close to the harvest…"

Bea's eyes narrowed.

"He would refuse a direct order from his king?" she asked.

"Probably not, but…"

"This is not an order," Alistair said interrupting them, "It is a request. If Mister Langston wants the king's judgment then it is in his best interest to come here and state his case, lest his opponents sway me to decide against him. I don't want to do it, but if he does not come, than I must assume he agrees with what is being said about him."

Rich grinned.

"You wish me to send a letter to that effect," he asked, "Exactly that?"

Alistair took a deep breath and nodded.

The Secretary nodded.

"Now you are starting to sound like a politician, Your Majesty," he purred.

"Well done."

Rich left leaving Alistair and Bea alone.

He gave his lover a sick look.

"You hear that, I'm turning into a politician."

Bea gave him a wry smile.

"You want me to try and find a cure for that," she asked dryly, "I must have something up in my tower."

Alistair chuckled.

"I couldn't be that lucky," he said morosely.

Bea popped up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're luckier than you might think," she purred.

He smiled.

"I suppose I am."


	59. Battle

**Chapter 59: Battle**

" **ATTACK!"**

Arland Glass rode out in front; his sword held overhead, a full company of Ferelden's finest riding with him.

Before them… the raiders, men who had just attacked one of the supply wagons providing food to the western Hinterlands. Men who were now **not** running, in fact they were not even panicking.

The warrior's good eye narrowed.

The bandits were forming up, locking shields, pikes moving in front while archers fell back behind the gutted wagon for cover. Clearly these were not simply starving farmers who had never fought another man, these were trained professionals.

 _Good_ , he thought.

 _That made what was about to happen that much better,_ _ **sweeter**_ _too._

He preferred to fight fellow soldiers; it was cleaner than fighting poor disorganized peasants. Those poor sods were out of the depth from the get go, these… _these_ allowed him to feel clean when he thought about the blood that was about to be spilled.

 _Yes,_ he thought.

 _Clean…was_ _ **better.**_

Arrows sang through the air, his fellows brought up their shields, most blocked the strike, but loses still happened.

A man struck in the throat.

Two horses went down, one rolling over his rider as the poor beast fell.

Arland let out his fiercest battle cry.

 _They were all Sons of Ferelden._

 _They would_ _ **not**_ _be denied!_

Their line finally crashed against the raiders shield wall, and it broke…partly.

Arland's sword took one of the raider's heads, then he was through the line, galloping towards their archers. They started to bring their bows down, ready to fire at point blank range.

He did _not_ give them that chance.

He rode two archers down, while a third caught his sword across the face.

The archers scattered, but Arland Glass did not think the battle was over for a second.

 _This lot was good,_ _ **too**_ _good._

This fight was **just** getting started.

When his company had first heard about this attack they had rode hard without a moment's notice. The last month had seen an increase in such attacks, and more and more Ferelden soldiers were being pulled off the boarder to deal with them. Raiders, just simple outlaws, the southern nobles claimed, perhaps veterans of the Blight who had turned to thievery to feed themselves after finding their homes gone.

It was a good story, but it was a story that Arland Glass did not believe.

A few soldiers turning bandit, that was to be expected after such a world changing event as a blight, but so _many_ , and _all_ still well armed, and still functioning like a military unit.

 **That** …he did not believe.

As the Blight passed into history, people were starting to forget just how much they owed King Alistair and his allies. Among them were nobles who had lost much when Loghain fell, now they pretended to remain true to their oaths while at the same time secretly attacking the crown and their neighbors.

As far as Arland Glass was concerned, that was high treason, and these thefts were not simple banditry, they were the first sparks of a possible rebellion.

 _That_ …could **not** be tolerated, and it would not be.

He would make sure of that.

Arland had only just turned his horse, when he was struck from behind by a pole ax, it was a glancing blow only, but it was enough to unseat him from his mount.

The warrior went sprawling, he rolled quickly, coming to his feet, and drawing his blade.

And…in that moment, he almost lost his life; one of their attackers struck him on his blind side, hoping to use his lost eye to end his role in this fight and his time in Thedas, all at the same time.

A pained cry alerted him; he back pedaled in time to see his would be killer fall, his head having been removed by a great sword.

A massive warrior stood behind him, even in full armor he recognized her, that and the fact her helm was wreathed in the laurels of Highever.

"Watch yourself, Milord," Lis Cousland said with a hint of amusement.

"I can't be watching your back all the time."

Arland growled and turned his attention the man with the pole ax. He had been so focused on his charge that he had not realized that another group of Ferelden soldiers had rode in to reinforce him and his men.

The fact that Lis Cousland was among them suggested who might have arranged this little arrival, and though their help was welcome, Arland could not help but be a little annoyed.

 _Damn you, Bea,_ he thought.

 _Why could his little sister not mind her_ _ **own**_ _business!_

Two full companies proved more than a match for the so called _"bandits."_ Several of them managed to flee, but the rest were struck down by good Ferelden steel.

As the dust finally settled the men and women who rode to help the supply caravan realized just how much had been lost.

The supplies were gone, stolen or destroyed, the traders and their guards had been killed, though their losses were minimal, few could call the battle a victory.

They had saved neither the supplies, nor the men carrying them. As for the bandits themselves, there were none left to question, no way of finding out who sent them, or where they had gotten their arms.

It was a victory, yes, but a costly one. In a war that would likely be decided by slow attrition.

They had won the battle, yes…

But the war was yet to be decided.

IOI

In the aftermath, Arland examined the bodies of the fallen bandits, hoping for some clue of where they might have come from.

He paced before their fallen enemies, trying to gain some insight into what had happened today.

The warrior's fingers curled into angry fists.

He would have to send word to Denerim, to his father, _again_. Perhaps this time the old man would listen to him.

 _More was going on in the Hinterlands than most people believed._

This was turning into more than a simple policing action, they would need some answers soon…

Or they might find themselves fighting an armed rebellion.

Not that anyone wanted to admit that, most likely did not even want to speak the words, alas, they needed to be spoken.

It did no one any good to hide from hard truths.

Arland knew that no one in the capital wanted to think about a rebellion, but sadly, they were running out of options. These attacks and whoever was behind them, was starting to grow bolder. In the last month they had stolen enough supplies to feed and supply an army.

Now they had to find out where that army might be coming from.

Of course, this went beyond the raiders. These supplies had been meant for the poor suffering folk down here in the Hinterlands, people bravely trying to rebuild following the darkspawn attack. If those people began to think that the crown could not protect them, or thought that the crown did not care. Their enemies would multiply quickly, and then…all it would take was one strong man or woman to reveal themselves.

Then they **would** have another civil war on their hands, and this time, there would likely be no quick end to it.

Ferelden would descend into chaos, and it would be left open to any enemy with the strength and ambition to make their move. Empress Celene might say that she had no designs on Ferelden, but he was willing to bet that her courtiers were not so noble, Grand Duke De Chalons for example.

Arland had heard the man's name from soldiers who had skirmished with his men along the border, if the Grand Duke found enough supporters…Ferelden would bleed, and the Orlesian royal would feel completely justified in doing so. No matter what his cousin the Empress thought.

"Awfully well-armed for bandits, don't you think?"

Arland frowned and turned to face Lis Cousland. The giantess stood behind him, inspecting one of the swords that they had taken off the fallen raiders.

He frowned at her.

"What are you doing here, Lady Cousland?" he inquired, "I thought you were still up in Denerim?"

"The king needed experienced warriors to help bring this matter back under control," she replied, "His Majesty has faith, but the more men we have down here, the quicker these attacks will stop."

Arland's frown deepened into a scowl.

"I take it my family had no…influence on your choice to volunteer for this mission?"

Lis returned his frown.

"I go where my king sends me," she said, "If the Arl or your sister suggested my name to Alistair, I do not known, but given what I've seen here today, I would say that I was just in time."

Glass' fingers once again curled into angry fists. The woman was right of course, and, in his mind, he knew he should have been grateful for her presence, but…but…

It was not his mind that was troubling him, it was his heart…

And that was not something easily fixed.

If Lis suspected anything like that, she chose not to show it, she continued to play at being the competent soldier, only interested in her duty.

He envied that, and that envy was quickly turning into anger, he could not help it…

It was just there.

"Does the king have a plan for dealing with this mess?" he asked.

"Several of the southern Banns and freeholders have been summoned to the palace; the king is going to demand answers. He does not wish these attacks to continue, especially with Orlais choosing to cut their support so close to the winter months."

Arland's temper flared.

 _She would bring up Orlais, wouldn't she? That was his father's territory, his precious trade deals…_

 _If any reduction had occurred, it was likely_ _ **his**_ _fault._

I doubt that the Orlesians care what happens to us, even more so if their chevaliers are now starting to talk of war against us. My father could have tried to help, but he is no doubt to busy playing Arl."

Lis gave him an arched look.

"You think your father is not taking his duties…seriously?"

"My father has never really cared about people, Lady Cousland," he growled, "People have always been just tools to him, buttons to push to help advance him in noble circles."

The warrior shook his head, his fury, too long buried was starting to boil to the surface.

He could not stop it, even if he wanted to…

It had been building for months now, like a volcano.

Now that volcano was starting to erupt.

There was no stopping it.

"I think my father does not **have** a heart," he hissed, "The people suffering here in the Hinterlands don't matter to him. All those poor souls who lost everything to the darkspawn do **not** matter to him. Maker…we, his own children, do not matter to him. We are just tools too! **TOOLS! AND HE HAS NEVER EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT IS BEST FOR US!"**

Lis said nothing, her face remained bland.

His temper finally exploded.

" **THAT OLD BASTARD DOESN'T CARE A WHIT ABOUT US!** Not Em, not Quentin, not me, or even Bea, we are all just pawns to him! Our feelings don't matter! It is just business, Milady! IT IS JUST BUSINESS, AND I'M SICK OF IT! SO _**FUCKING**_ TIRED OF IT!"

Lis looked around; some of the other soldiers were starting to take notice of them.

"Milord," she murmured, "Keep your voice down!"

"You think I care what they think of my father?!" he hissed, "I don't care if he is the Arl! He certainly did not care. I was just another tool to him, an errand boy he can trust. It never occurred to him that I may have my own wants and desires! He never even acknowledged when I brought Jayne here, it was just another job…he never asked if…if I…we…"

Lis tilted her head, and in that moment Arland realized what had happened.

Lis Cousland had set a trap, and he had fallen right into it.

His heart pounded, part of him wanted to draw his sword, he felt betrayed, his sister's friend had used this attack to try and draw out what had happened, she had tried to…

He took a shuddering breath, not an easy thing, not with all the fury burning within him.

It was all his father's fault.

If the man had never requested that he bring Jayne back from Cumberland, he would have still been able to do his job, and not think about what his father had done. What his precious deals had denied his eldest son.

It wasn't right!

IT WASN'T FAIR!

He had never meant for anything to happen, but it had. He and Jayne, they…he…she…

He let the calmness that had saved his life in battle so many times fall over him, the fire was still there but it was contained once again.

He was back in control.

Not his father.

He took another deep breath, the anger went with it.

When he looked at Lis Cousland again, he was calm.

"You are right, Milady," he said in a cold voice, "This is not the time or the place for such…talk."

He shook his head and turned away.

"Excuse me," he said, "I have other duties to perform."

He left her then, he could feel her eyes upon him, could almost imagine the confused look on her face, no doubt, she was frustrated that she had not learned what had happened to him. Now, she would go back to Bea or his father and make a report, a report that said nothing.

 _That thought pleased him, more than it should._

 _It was the simple victory of_ _ **spite.**_

Arland Glass had never been a spiteful person, but he had learned how to be in the past few months. When Father had sent him to Cumberland, he had never realized what it would cost his eldest son.

It should have been Quentin, he thought, Quentin was the one getting married after all. Arland was a soldier, he had no desire to be a lord or any hold any other highborn title, that was Quentin's dream, and he was welcome to it.

The warrior shook his head.

He had never been jealous of his little brother, but now…he was.

He was jealous because Quentin had the one thing in his life that in a few short months had come to mean more to him than his life as a soldier.

Quentin…had Jayne.

Arland shook his head; he pushed down his anger and his frustration, before it could spawn anew.

It was for the best, Jayne deserved more than being a simple soldiers wife. She would make a fine Arlessa one day, far better than any other Ferelden born noble.

An unshed tear burned in his eye, but again he refused to acknowledge it.

He could do this, he thought; he could let Jayne have the life she deserved. He would still have to stay away of course, lest seeing her again bring to the surface all the uncomfortable feelings that had been spawned during their time together.

He took another shuddering breath, he had won the battle again, his heart had been defeated by his will and by doing so…Jayne would be kept safe.

In the end, that was all that he wanted.

In the end, it was for the best.


	60. Time and Trouble

**Chapter 60: Time and Trouble**

Bann Lorelei was finally **back** in Denerim.

The coming fall had brought many changes to the capital. Ferelden continued to struggle as it tried to fight its way back from the Blight. The southern freeholders had also been summoned to the capital, to answer for the problems that were plaguing the lands down there. Lorelei had heard about those problems of course. Well-armed bandits, fading relief shipments, not to mention the possibility of elven encroachment onto the freeholders land.

 _In short, the south was in_ _ **chaos.**_

The Bann smiled slightly.

 _Things…could not have been going_ _ **better.**_

She had nothing to do with those problems of course, her own plans kept her more than busy, but that did not mean that she could not appreciate what the southern lords were doing.

She was perfectly happy to sit back and let them test the crown's defenses for her. She would let them fall and evaluate the weak spots they revealed in the king's powerbase.

It would take time, but all good things didn't they?

Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

It was all about time, time and patience.

She had come to value the former over the latter.

Time, she had noticed, had a way of changing things for the better, at least, as far as she was concerned. The city of Amaranthine remained the jewel of the Arling, and she had that jewel firmly in her pocket. Warden Commander Leonie kept her distance for the most part. As acting Arl she allowed the young Bann to rule her lands as she saw fit, provided nobody complained, and money continued to flow for the reconstruction of Vigil's Keep.

Some might have complained about the cost, but to the Bann, it was money well spent…

…Anything to keep the warden either happy, or too busy to look too closely at her Bann's operations.

…Operations that were making Lorelei very, **very** rich.

In the early days of her reign, the warden commander had crippled the smuggling operations in Amaranthine, slaying many of the gang's members, but that did not mean that the smugglers' network had been destroyed. They had simply been left abandoned…derelict.

Lorelei had changed all that.

She had moved her own people into position to make the best use of those operations, and unlike the smugglers she had chosen to keep prices reasonable, she still made a profit, but the network was not as noticeable as it had been during the smugglers' days.

That was good.

By keeping prices low, no one complained to the guard, and therefore no one complained to the warden commander.

In short, she had created for herself the perfect way to gain more power, both legally and illegally.

All the power in the city of Amaranthine was quickly coming under her control; her patience was being rewarded five-fold.

She smiled slightly.

Time…was definitely working in her favor.

Her smile widened as she passed several young noble man, it did not take genius to see that they could not take their eyes off her.

The thought almost made her giggle, almost.

She pursed her lips.

She tried not to giggle anymore.

Time had also changed the Bann, gone was the gawky, coltish teen, in her place now stood a cool and confident young noble woman. Her figure had finally filled out, and she had finally reached her full height.

In short, she had finally grown up, and with it the next stage of her plan could begin.

She feigned disinterest as she made her way through the crowd, even while she listened closely to the various comments as she passed. More than a few young men had grown curious about her, which was good.

In fact, it was part of the reason she was here in the capital today. She had not simply come to observe…

…she was in fact, hunting, hunting for a fitting husband.

Her smile returned.

She would have to choose…wisely.

She would need a man who would give her what she wanted, while, at the same time, leave her to pursue her own ambitions. The restoration of House Howe remained her one true goal.

She could not do that with some domineering fool trying to force his own will upon her.

One of her gaggle of noble friends waved at her, Laura…something or other. She nodded and gave the girl a polite royal wave in return. Though she chose not to go and see what the twit wanted.

The girl had an older brother, she knew, but she also knew that their fortunes were falling.

She would not waste any time on them.

She had bigger fish to fry.

When the herald announced the king's arrival, she took her place with the other high lords and ladies.

She found a spot next to Arl Wulfe, and gave him a respectful nod.

Lorelei sighed.

Had any of Wulfe's sons survived the Blight, they might have been worthy matches, yet, that had not come to be.

It was most unfair.

She took note of the arrival of the Lady Bridget, her dress far finer than a mere scholar in the king's service.

The Bann glanced over at the Chantry's representative, mother Allison looked about to pop a blood vessel. She also noticed how close the Orlesian ambassador was, that and the young man they had sent to evaluate the Glass girl's work, Rene…something or other.

Lorelei could not stop the smirk from springing to her lips now.

The fools, she thought.

The stupid fools!

Her source within the chantry continued to feed her information regarding Mother Allison's partnership with the Orlesian Ambassador. So far their schemes had yet to bear fruit.

She was not surprised.

The Orlesians did not understand King Alistair, he was not raised a noble, he did not behave as most royals were expected to…

If the fools truly wanted to bring down the king, they should have been striking at him through his decisions, not his personal life. Alistair was not as capricious as Cailan had been; he did not get jealous or angry when it came to lovers and allies pasts.

In short he did not act like a typical royal.

That made him hard to predict, at least for someone who had known power all their life.

She sneered slightly.

She had been raised with nothing. The Duchess had taught her how to see the world, both as a commoner and as a noble.

It was an advantage, especially when she finally decided to go after the king, to pay him back for what he had done to House Howe.

To Lorelei, the king was an open book, she just had to decide how best to proceed, and to wait for just the right moment.

She glanced at Lady Glass.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

The king was a fool to make the girl anything more than a simple mistress; he was simply put, betting on the wrong horse. When her experiments failed, her failure would drag the king down with her, or at the very least embolden the crown's enemies to start acting more openly against him.

When that time came, she would have to decide what to do about the chantry, and the Orlesians. Her Ferelden upbringing made her distrustful of the painted fops, but they might have a place in her plans. As for Mother Allison…well…

Fanatics were easily to manipulate, the Duchess had taught her that, and yes the Mother was a fanatic.

In time she would be brought to heel, she would find herself on her knees, kissing Lorelei's feet.

The Bann welcomed that day, the day she saved Ferelden from the Glass family's manipulations.

She would be herald a hero, and all the power that came with that, would be hers.

Of course, she realized, there was the small matter of the girl's work failing. That was the key.

The Bann again almost giggled.

Such a failure…could be arranged, but the timing…it needed to be flawless, but that was okay, she was patient.

Lorelei's smile widened.

She was not worried.

Her time would come.

IOI

Alistair glanced out over the assembled court. As always, he felt that brief flutter of nervousness, surrounded by so many important people.

He glanced over at Bea; she gave him a reassuring smile.

He smiled back.

He was grateful for her presence, it made…well…

He shook his head.

It made him feel a bit like a king.

He waited as Rich read the business that had been discussed at the previous meeting, most of it was just housekeeping stuff, this tax law or this trade incentive. Alistair had tried his best to follow the money talk, but usually such things left his head spinning. Eamon or Teagan would make sure he fully understood later, in case any noble approached him about it privately.

Knowing, he had been told, was half the battle in politics.

When Rich finally mentioned the problems in the south, he found himself looking out over the various southern lords and landholders. Most seemed irritated that he had called them away from their lands, but he did not let that bother him.

In truth, he was irritated too.

Was peace so much to ask for, did they have to cause so much trouble when so many simple people were just trying to get by.

Alistair sighed.

Hopefully, he would get some answers today; answers that could help him solve this crisis before it got worse.

To that end, the Secretary called for the man whose name came up more often than not in this mess.

" **Malcolm Langston,"** Rich shouted, **"Please step forward, and address the royal court."**

The king watched as the crowd parted. His brow furrowed slightly at the rather odd young man that approached the throne.

The king blinked.

Well, he thought with a slight quirk of his lip.

Mister Rich did try to warn him.

Mal Langston was…not what someone expected of a successful farm holder. For starters, he was rail-thin, his fine coat and leggings made him look more like a child playing at being a lord than an actual ruler. His shoulder length red hair seemed to explode out from his pale face, his pinched nose dusted with dark freckles. His slightly slanted eyes and wide mouth gave his face an impish quality, a normal smile meant to put a person at ease would no doubt seem like a smirk.

The young man practically jogged up to throne, when he came to just a few steps from the king's bodyguards, he dipped his head on a deep over-theatrical bow.

"Your Majesty," he said boisterously, putting a bit of stress on the "A" in 'Your Majesty.' The result made it sound like "Your Maaajesty."

The young man sprang up, and put his hands on his hips; he sighed contentedly, and gave his sovereign a cheery smile.

"Malcolm Langston," he said proudly, "At your service."

Alistair leaned back on the throne, taking in this rather…odd fellow. Given everything he had heard; he had expected…well he was not sure what he had expected, certainly not the boisterous young man presenting himself before his king.

Fortunately, Rich came to his rescue.

"Mister Langston," he said, "We have been receiving complaints about you from your neighbors."

"Reeeally," the young man said glancing around,"Hm, and what kind of complaints might those be? I'm simply a farmer who had been lucky since the end of the Blight."

"You have been accused of consorting with renegade elves," Rich continued, "And that you use unnatural means to ensure the success of your holdings."

Langston's eyes narrowed, for a brief moment, a flash of black anger filled his green eyes, but that quickly faded, replaced by amusement.

He let out a nervous giggle.

"Consorting with renegade elves, hm," he said looking everywhere but at the king, "I will admit, that I have allowed the Dalish clan, the Dalish clan that His Majesty allowed to settle so close to my holdings, I might add, hunting privileges on my land, and in exchange, their keeper and his first have occasionally visited my holdings, using their power to help my land be more…fruitful."

Langston's smile widened.

"Is that unnatural?" he asked, "Is it unnatural to make sure that my people have enough to eat this winter. Is it unnatural to use every tool available to me to make sure that we do not have to live on Orlesian charity, Hm? Is it? Is it?"

He turned to the royal court, his eyes flashed with anger.

"No," he said flatly, "No. No. No. No. I would not call that unnatural at all. All I see here is those too afraid to ask for help, too afraid to take advantage of allies right on our doorstep, allies who would be more than helpful if you just gave them a small bit of courtesy."

He spun back again and addressed the king.

"Some would say what I'm doing is against the Maker's will. Ooh I'm consorting with Dalish elves. Oh…the horror!"

He giggled again, his eyes darting around nervously, perhaps daring someone to say something bad about him.

"Why not do what we can to make our home great again? Why deny power when it is available to us? No, Your Majesty, no, no, no, this is not only wrong, but it is foolish, and it stupid, stupid, **stupid.** "

The man giggled again.

Alistair pursed his lips; he glanced over at Rich, the secretary shrugged.

He had warned the king, after all.

Mal Langston was…odd.

"It is stupid," the young man growled, he looked up with an almost feral look in his eyes, but then just as quick as it had appeared the anger faded, and he smiled widely.

"I have done nothing wrong," he said with another exaggerated bow, "I merely trying to run my business."

He gave the king an impish sneer.

"Is that so wrong?"

IOI

Lorelei watched the exchange with a hint of a knowing smile.

Well, she thought, Mister Langston was certainly putting on a show wasn't he?

She almost chuckled.

The man was odd, she would give him that, but she also knew a few more things about the intense young free holder. Things she doubted even Wilbur Rich knew.

She smiled.

Despite his odd behavior, the young man was quite…intelligent, or so a rumor she had heard suggested. His father had supported Loghain during the Blight, and during one of the battles early in the civil war, Langston senior had found himself cut off from his reinforcements, and easy victory suddenly turned into a shocking defeat. A strange ailment had swept through the ranks of Langston's banner men, two thirds of the man's reserves had been knocked out of action.

The man had died during that battle, and all his holdings had passed to his son.

Quite sad, of course, but also quite common during a civil war, but of course, there was more to the story.

Interestingly enough, Mal Langston had _personally_ arranged a supply shipment to those men on the eve of that battle, complete with enough foodstuffs for a banquet.

The Bann smiled.

The rumor was that those warriors had eaten their fill that night, more than their fill and in the morning…well…

Lorelei shook her head.

She did not belief in coincidence.

Her smile widened as she regarded the young free holder.

Odd, he may have been, but that did not mean that he was not dangerous. She could have warned the king, but…where was the fun in that.

She felt a shiver run down her spine.

Now Langston was one of the most powerful men in the Hinterlands, most would say coincidence…

She did not think so.

She did not believe in coincidence.

No.

It seemed that yet another wealthy man was rising to keep the king distracted, and that would only make things better for her, oh yes.

One thing was for certain, with Orlais withdrawing more and more help, and men like Mal Langston in the south.

It was going to be…an interesting winter.

Now she did giggle, she could not help it.

It was going to be a most interesting winter indeed.


	61. Something Big

**Chapter 61: Something Big**

It was going to be another cold night in Denerim.

Winter might have still been a few months off, but already icy winds were starting to blow in from across the sea.

In her room in the palace, Bridget Glass sat bundled up the best she could against the cold, a heavy fur blanked draping her slender shoulders. The scholar was going over the most recent report from her assistant, and starting to compose a letter explaining what she needed Talia to do next.

Bea shiver again and looked around, the fire in her chambers was crackling merrily, but did little to hold back the cold. She had remembered reading something written years ago by some Orlesian scholar, how native Fereldans seemed to enjoy being cold, that the y believed that enduring the elements made them stronger than anyone else.

Bea, as a native Fereldan herself, took that comment as a compliment, but, on the other hand, being a former student of the University of Orlais, a place where she had always been warm, she could honest, and say she would have preferred a bit more comfort to toughness.

She shook her head.

If that was a weakness, she accepted it.

She pulled the furs tighter around her, outside the wind continued to batter the city, she could hear it even here, whistling again the metal of the window frames, wailing like an abandoned child.

The scholar shivered and looked up from her work. She had hoped to get this letter sent off before morning. She had come up with some ideas that she wanted her assistant Talia to try. For the most part their little experiment in the Hinterlands was slowly proving to be a success, the plants had taken root, and if they were not thriving in their new environment, then at least, they were surviving.

She smiled to herself.

It was a victory of sorts, even though she knew they still had a long way to go.

To create this first generation of Blight cleansing plants, she had chosen only the hardiest of flora, plants that bloomed in difficult environments, and always beat even the trees in filing in their first leaves. She had high hopes that when her little darlings bloomed in the spring, they would leave their small bit of land taint free by the coming fall. It was even possible that come spring they might be able to try some test crops in the hopefully purifying soil, see if her little experiment had done what she promised. If these first generations did what she hoped they would, then perhaps in the next two years, she would finally be able to send a report to the University, that she would be able to tell them that the taint spread by the darkspawn **had** been conquered.

After that, who could say how far her work could go? Perhaps she might even gain a professorship out of the deal. Success in Ferelden could be used elsewhere, from the Anderfels to the tainted western approach of Orlais…

Her work might be the first step in not only restoring life to places left by desolate by the darkspawn, but to improving the lives of countless people in Thedas.

Such a victory would be her crowning achievement, her **greatest** success to date. She would be able to stand next to Alistair and say…

The wind howled again outside, even with her heavy blanket she could almost feel the goosebumps rising on her arms.

Cold, she thought grimly.

Very, very COLD!

She shivered again as another cold draft breached her quarters. The slight blast of cold air had snapped her out of her heady daydreams. She shook her head and reread the note she was trying to compose.

She frowned.

The entire parchment was filled with errors stupid things that her tutors growing up would have rapped her knuckles had they seen them.

Bea sighed. She crumpled up the paper, looked down at her notes, and started again.

She idly fingered the necklace that Alistair had given her, the rune stone felt cool and slick against her hand. He had told her that dwarven scholars used such rune stones to gain greater focus as they worked.

She pursed her lips slightly.

She could not say for certain, but the pendant did seem to perform as it was advertised, she was able to focus more clearly on what she wanted.

The scholar frowned.

Alas, she was no longer sure that it was her research.

The scholar took a deep breath.

She was used to distractions, or at least she had thought she was. Her siblings were always interrupting her when she came home for visits. Back at the University, she had had to deal with nosy rivals trying to sneak a peek at what she was doing, but this…this…this was something far, far worse…

…or better, depending on a person's definition.

She tried to stay focused, stay on task and deal with the job in hand, but her thoughts continued to drift back and forth. Both to the meeting she attended earlier, and to their king likely asleep in the quarters several doors over.

She licked her lips, and once again glanced up the door, knowing that Alistair was just down the hall, thinking about him, and what they could be doing…together.

She shivered, and for once it had nothing to do with the cold.

This is ridiculous, she thought, you are not some starry eyed peasant girl, you are an intelligent woman. You are a scholar of the University of Orlais.

All those things were true, but she was also a woman with a man who she fancied far more than she liked to admit to herself.

Part of her wanted to forget her work for the night, part of her wanted to open that door, go out into the hall, knock on Alistair's door, and offer to spend the night with him.

Her heart beat a little faster.

Alistair, no doubt, knew more than a few ways to keep her warm.

The very thought makes the heat rise in her belly, rise, and start to drift lower.

Bea shook her head, trying to will such thoughts away.

 _Maker's breath_ , she thought, _what in the name of Andraste is wrong with me?!_

She swallowed hard, trying to moisten her throat, what she felt for Alistair, it was different than what she had with Rene, stronger…more intense perhaps. The scholar in her tries to analyze what she was thinking, what she was feeling, but those thoughts are not so easily cataloged and filed away.

She shook her head again.

Maker, she thought, she feared she was turning into her sister, Margaret!

Bea had never thought that she had needed someone to complete her, she had her will and her work; that was all she thought she needed; now, the king had begun to intrude onto her everyday thoughts with alarming regularity. Yes they shared a bed from time to time; yes he could be adorable when he stared at her with those soft puppy-dog eyes of his, but this…this…

It was beyond anything she had experienced before, and it scared her.

It frightened her **terribly**.

IOI

The meeting she had attended her earlier had not helped matters. Wilbur Rich had had things he felt they needed to discuss; she was surprised to find that not only Lis and Ambassador Petra were there, but her father as well.

"Papa," she had said offering a slight curtsey.

"Sweetheart," he had replied, sliding over so she could take her place among the others.

She glanced over at him.

Her Father's presence had surprised her, she thought him still affiliated with Chancellor Eamon; that he did not know that she had been building her own allies here in Denerim.

She was glad that he was here; she did not like to think of her own father as an enemy.

When Rich finally arrived, they were all surprised by his expression; normally the man never lost that oily smile that he wore in court.

Today, he looked almost grim, positively so.

He turned to his fellow conspirators, for that is what they were when you got right down to it. They were all conspiring to keep the king safe and in power, but it was a conspiracy none the less.

Rich sighed.

"I've just received word from my contacts in Val Royeaux," he said, "Divine Beatrix is dying."

Bea's eyes fell to the floor, it was sad news to be sure, but the Divine had been in failing health for such a long time.

Even the most devote of the faithful knew it was only a matter of time.

Arl Glass sighed.

"How long do her retainers believe she has?"

"Not long, they fear," Rich answered, "A month maybe, perhaps a month and a half. She has surprised them before, but this time they seem more worried, their calling for healers **more** urgent."

Petra shook her head.

She knew better than anyone, magic could do much, but it could not halt the ravages of time.

Age claimed all, eventually, even with magical aid.

"She has been dying for almost ten years," the mage said crossing her arms over her chest, "Why is that so disturbing?"

It was Bea's father, not Rich, that chose to answer.

"The timing is not…well…it is _not_ good. Too much is up in the air right now, both in Orlais, and here."

Rich nodded.

"We have all seen what has been happening at court," the secretary continued, "The problems in the south, the reduction in aid from Orlais."

The man shook his head.

"It is **all** connected. Those in power have grown comfortable having a Divine almost totally lost to senility. Nothing against Her Perfection, of course, but the powerful _have_ taken advantage of the fact that the woman had become more of a figure head, than an actual leader, in the last ten years."

Rich began to pace, Bea could almost imagine the wheels spinning in the man's head, his thoughts turning like the gears in a windmill.

"The Mothers are watching Divine Beatrix's health very closely, especially Mother Allison here in Ferelden. Since the Divine's health began to fail, her aids and allies within the chantry have tried to continue the same policies that Beatrix favored."

Rich's smile returned briefly.

"Of course, there have been those that have taken advantage of that. Take the Templar order for example, with Beatrix's failing health; the Seekers of Truth have been forced to take more of a…hands on role in administering the Templars. The Knight-Commanders may lead, but the Seekers position offers them many opportunities to secure greater and greater power for themselves."

The secretary shrugged.

"The Seekers maybe devote, but few can resist the temptation of more power."

Lis snorted.

"What you say may be true, Mister Secretary," she agreed, "But surely the election of a new Divine will change that."

Rich smiled as he turned to her.

"That is exactly what I'm concerned about, Lady Cousland. What if the Templars and Seekers use their power to bully the mothers into electing a new Divine that supports them having **more** power. What if they use their power to place a young zealot on the sunburst throne, one that believes that the mages need to be held under tighter restrictions?"

Ambassador Petra winced.

"We have seen an upturn in anti-mage sentiment in the chantry," she admitted, "Mother Allison here, and some rather disturbing rumors are coming out of Kirkwall. We have heard both reports and complaints of the Templars not obeying chantry law, about them making mages tranquil for minor offenses or no offenses at all."

"Surely that is a problem for the Seekers to deal with," Bea suggested.

"Requests have been sent to the Seekers," Petra nodded.

"But it will be likely that the Seekers won't even investigate until the matter of the new Divine is concluded," Rich said interrupting her. "'Wait and see' will probably be the mothers stance as long as Divine Beatrix continues to draw breath.

The Secretary sighed.

"Not to dismiss the Circles problems, but there is also the matter of the aid Ferelden has been receiving. Beatrix was always lauded for her charity work. A new Divine might decide that Ferelden has been given enough aid, she might be a friend to the Orlesian nobles, and there are more than a few mothers like that wandering the halls of the Grand Cathedral."

Arl Nathaniel shook his head.

"I've been trying to keep channels open to my allies in Val Royeaux, but if the Divine decides that it is in the chantry's best interest to turn their eyes inward, the more hawkish of Orlesian nobles might get the excuse they have been waiting for. A new Divine might even see it in her interest to have Ferelden brought back under the Orlesian fold again."

Lis' eyes narrowed at that.

"The Fereldan army would not stand for that," she said, "We would fight back!"

"Would that be possible," Rich asked, "With all the problems in the south?"

Lis frowned as she considered that.

Bea could see it on her face.

The warrior woman did not like their chances. If a fully battle-hardened Orlesian army crossed the mountains…

Ferelden would be hard pressed to stop them. So far, Empress Celene continued to express her desire to be friends with Ferelden, but if her more hawkish nobles had a Divine suggesting it might be in Ferelden's best interest to be brought back into the fold of the empire.

Could even the Empress disagree?

Arl Nathaniel shook his head.

"The problems in the south must end," he said, "We need to appear strong, both to Orlais, and the rest of Thedas."

Ambassador Petra pursed her lips in thought.

"Perhaps we should reach out to the more successful free holders? That boy, that Malcolm Langston, he seemed to support he king's peace, perhaps we could see if he could aid us?"

Bea pursed her lips now.

She was not sure that they should make snap judgments about bringing in people just because they "seemed" to be keeping the king's peace.

She knew too little about Langston, they all did. In Orlais, you never entered into a deal with an unknown commodity.

Such deals could blow up in one's face.

Rich raised his hand.

"I'm looking into Mister Langston. I will test the waters see if he is trust worthy, in the meantime, we need something big, something to…reinforce the image of the king's power.

"Something to silence Alistair's critics," Arl Nathaniel nodded.

Rich's smile returned, blooming right before their eyes.

He turned his cold eyes on Bea. All of her allies turned to her.

She swallowed hard.

"Um…yes," she said meekly.

"The king's reign **must** be stabilized, Milady," the Secretary said, "We need something to silence those that still reject it, if they fell into line, perhaps the problems in the south would start to go away."

Bea fought the urge to cringe, the look on the faces of Rich, Petra and her father disturbed her.

The only real ally she felt she had was Lis, the large warrior moved to her back, ready to shield her if needed be.

Bea drew strength from the larger woman's presence.

Rich finally spoke, his voice taking on a more…seductive note.

"Perhaps the time has come to deal with Anora MacTir," he said coolly, "You could help with that."

Bea tried not to wince.

Rich continued.

"Locked in Fort Drakon, Anora MacTir remains a threat to Alistair's reign; she refuses to bend the knee, and continues to insist that she is the rightful queen."

"Marrying her to King Alistair could solve that problem," Petra offered.

Bea's eyes narrowed, her temper started to flare.

No, I will not give up Alistair, a dark part of her thought.

He is mine!

The strength of that thought scared her, but even as it scared her, she could not deny that she believed that thought, she believed it with all her heart.

She…she did not know if she wanted to be queen, wasn't sure if she was even worthy of it. For now, she was comfortable being his friend and companion, but she knew that that situation could not last forever, the fact that the king had not taken a bride yet was starting to worry more than a few of the nobles.

Then…shouldn't you be prepared to step aside, the analytical side of her mind asked.

Bea's eyes narrowed.

Again her passiveness reared its head.

NO!

She would support no plan that had Alistair married off to another woman.

"Such an alliance would be unwise," Rich said, "It was never openly spoken of, but more than a few of Anora's critics feared that she might not even be able to have children. She was married for five years to Cailan, and in that time, no children were conceived, not even still born."

Rich shook his head.

"No," he said, "I would not put my coin on that particular horse, however there is another way to neutralize Anora, two exactly."

Again he smiled at Bea.

"We know that Anora has been asking to meet with you."

"You were not sure if I should do that," she reminded him.

"True," he nodded, "But the situation has changed, you could test the water, see what it is that Anora wants."

It was then that Lis spoke up, startling them all.

"Having Lady Anora on our side would be a great help," the warrior woman said, "She is still greatly respected."

"Exactly," Rich purred, "She would make a good ally."

Bea considered that.

Growing up, Anora MacTir had been a hero of hers, a strong woman taking the reins in her homeland. Cailan was loved, but his…appetites had cost him much of the respect that his young queen wielded.

Bea had always wanted to meet the woman; perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone. Meet her hero, and do what was necessary to help Alistair.

Everyone could come away a winner.

Rich smirked.

"Of course," he said, "If Anora will not support us, if she is behind all the trouble Ferelden is having lately. You could confirm that for us, Milady."

Her Father's expression turned cold.

"Then we could finally take steps," he said, " _Remove_ the former queen from the gaming board, permanently."

Bea swallowed hard at that.

Now she understood what it was that Rich and her Father were asking.

Go to Anora; find out if she was a possible ally or an enemy…

…If she turned out to be an enemy…?

Bea shivered.

Alistair had done nothing to the former queen, not wishing to harm a woman whose only crime had been on the losing side of her father's schemes, but the king did not have to be a part of this.

Bea had spent enough time in Orlais to know when it came to unpopular nobles…

…accidents happened.

IOI

Bea shivered anew, and put down her quill. She would not be getting anymore work done tonight.

The scholar sighed.

What had been discussed earlier, it kept her from going to Alistair, not just the fear of her affection, but knowing what just might be done in her name.

Rich had sent word through his contacts.

Bea would meet with Anora.

What happened next might just decide the fate of Ferelden. If the Divine died tomorrow or a month from now, Ferelden needed an advantage.

Anora could be that advantage, or…or…

Bea shuddered as she slipped off her blanket and crawled into bed, even under the furs she felt cold.

She snuggled up, trying to get warm.

They needed something big, Rich had said.

Well, when Anora agreed to meet, they would have that.

Either a new ally…

…Or an accident.


	62. Ghosts and Legends

**Chapter 62: Ghosts and Legends**

 _Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all._

Bea frowned as she looked up, above her the massive structure that was Fort Drakon rose up like a mighty leviathan.

The scholar shuddered.

 _Yes,_ she thought.

 _Perhaps this was not such a good idea._

The gate guard asked that they wait while he informed the commander of their arrival. Her companions, Lis Cousland and Wilbur Rich said nothing as the fort went about the day to day business that defined it as the capital's primary military garrison. All around them soldiers marched to and fro, training, delivering and receiving orders, or marching down into the city of Denerim, either to keep the king's peace, or to make their way out into the greater kingdom.

The sight should have made her feel better, cause her heart to swell with patriotism for the country that had given her so much…

…That…that was not how she felt, that was not how she felt at all.

Fort Drakon had always had a bit of a dark history. Several major victories had been won here, but it had also seen its share of tragedies.

Bea tried not to stare overlong at the scaffold in the corner, a small stone block stood at the center, a small section of the top of it cut away forming a half bowl pattern, next to that block, on a small weapons' rack sat several different swords and axes.

She suppressed another shudder.

She **knew** what those weapons were used for.

Rich tried to look relaxed, but she could tell that he was as uncomfortable as she was. The man's hand kept drifting up to the scarf that covered his scarred neck. This place was the final reward if one failed to win in the game of noble politics. One always had to tread lightly, if you lost your step for even a minute you might find yourself in a cell or worse with your head upon that very block.

Bea tried not to think about that. She still believed that she what she was doing was for the good of Ferelden, but if anything ever went wrong, or someone managed to turn the court against her.

This courtyard might just become her final stop.

Of the three of them only Lis seemed at home here. As a trained warrior this was a world she knew intimately. Not a single soldier challenged her presence here. Her arms and armor marked her as one of them, but even if they had not the soldiers would have likely known what she was. Lis' every move and action practically screamed that she was a soldier.

To the men and women who served in Fort Drakon, the warrior woman was not an oddity.

She and Rich were.

Her fine gown drew the eyes of many of the soldiers, no doubt they were wondering about the noble in their midst. Rich's more conservative clothes likely made him more acceptable, but it was clear that he was not one of them. Rich was an able advisor and a businessman, but no one would ever mistake him for a warrior.

In the palace, Lis was the outsider, now Bea was starting to understand what that felt like, to both understand, and sympathize.

Her eyes rose to the top of the massive fort, though she could not it from here, up there somewhere was the space on which Alistair and his fellow warden battled the Archdemon, and it was upon that ground that Kallian Tabris had given her life to stop the tainted god from spreading its war beyond the borders of Ferelden.

The thought of doing that, of making that sacrifice left Bea almost breathless.

Leliana had told her a little bit about the warden. Kallian Tabris had been a brave woman. She had had every reason to hate Ferelden and everything it had stood for. She had been born in an alienage and treated like a second-class citizen her entire life, and yet, in the end, she had given that life up to secure all their futures.

At least, that was the tale the bards sang about the hero, Bea suspected her motivations were not so grand, or altruistic.

She had not given her life for Ferelden, or the humans that had looked down on her, no, she had given her life for Alistair, her king and her love.

In the end, perhaps _that_ was all that had mattered to her.

The thought made her feel a little…inadequate.

Alistair did not talk about his fellow warden much. The memory of her loss was perhaps still too fresh in his mind, even though it was now almost two years past. She was not jealous of the warden's memory; that would have been pointless. Alistair had loved the girl, she recognized that. Kallian may have been larger than life now, but to Alistair she was a part of him, the first woman he had ever truly loved. She would not fault him for that, just as he did not fault her for her past association with Rene. She had told him about their history a short while back. Alistair, thank the Maker, was not the jealous type, and accepted the fact that whatever she had had with Rene was long over.

She sighed heavily.

What had happened to the two of them before they had met was not something that either of them could change. They had both loved and lost, and now, hopefully, they could find a new beginning with each other. Yet, she could not completely banish the late Hero of Ferelden from her mind.

She pursed her lips.

Alistair **had** loved her that was undeniable.

How could she ever measure up to someone like that?

It was a hard thing to compete with, knowing that the man she now cared deeply for had been in love with someone so brave and selfless. Whatever her motivations in the end, it did not change the fact that she had died and saved them all. She wasn't just a ghost, she was something more, a heroic legend, something that even the most jaded had to look at themselves and asked just how much they measured up. How could Bea not be intimidated by such a person? Alistair had tried to console her; he had tried to convince her that she did not have to compete with the memory of his first love. She wanted to believe him, and yet, she could not stop what she felt.

What mere woman could compete with a legend?

It was a question not easily answered. Perhaps that was why she had agreed to sit down and speak with Anora MacTir. The former queen was a legend in her own right after all. If she could stand in her presence, surely she had nothing to fear of the memory of her king's former paramour?

At least, she hoped that would be the case…

…Provided that this meeting took place, of course.

Provided she was ever allowed in.

Bea blinked, impatience eating away at her resolve.

 _Seriously,_ she thought.

 _How hard was it for the commander here to grant her request to an audience with the former queen?_

The scholar shook her head.

 _It was not like Anora had many visitors._

Part of her wondered if this was all some kind of act. Perhaps the former queen had no desire to see them at all. Perhaps this was all some ploy, make them wait, and then request another meeting later.

Such a move was not uncommon in the noble salons of Orlais. Anora likely understood this…

It would not be a surprise if she used such a gambit herself.

She glanced over and Wilbur Rich, the man tried his best to give her a reassuring smile.

"Don't let Anora bully you, Milady," he said, "If she is anything like she used to be, she'll try to make you feel small when you first meet her. Try to remember that you are here because you wish to be here, not because she has been asking about you."

Bea nodded. She knew how this game was played after all. She had spent enough time in Orlais to know how to handle herself in front of high nobles.

She may not have liked the games of the highborn, but that did not mean that she was ignorant of how to play them.

She would **not** be caught off guard.

She would _**not.**_

"Did you know the Lady Anora well?" she inquired.

Rich chuckled.

She knew me well enough to hate me, I can tell you that much."

The secretary sighed.

"Anora felt that I was gaining too much influence over her father. Our former queen saw me as a lowborn spider, whispering dangerous advice in her lord father's ear."

Lis gave the man an arched look.

"Considering that Loghain rose from among the common folk, that seems like a strange reason for our queen to dislike you Mister Rich."

Rich gave her that oily smile of his.

"Anora saw her father as many things, Lady Cousland, common was not one of them."

The man shook his head.

"It may have been better had the warden spared Loghain after his defeat. Had he been forced to join the wardens, himself, it might have gone a long way in dispelling the support that Anora still enjoys among the members of the royal court."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"Or he could have used his new position to try and weaken Alistair's claim from within the wardens. The king clearly felt it was safer to deal with Loghain rather than let him live. You cannot blame Alistair for that, he had lost so many friends at Ostagar, and Loghain, depending on who you talk to, was more than a little responsible for that loss, not to mention the death of good King Cailan."

Rich shrugged.

You could debate the king's reasons for killing Loghain until the Maker himself returns, for now we should stay focused on dealing with Anora. I cannot say for certain why she requested this meeting, she has certainly not given and clues on her reasons that is for sure."

He gave Bea a cool and even look.

"Anora has always loved her games, Milady. Make no mistake; she had a reason for getting your attention, if we can somehow turn that to our advantage, then so much the better."

The scholar frowned.

"What if we can't?" she asked.

Rich pursed his lips.

"It may become necessary to make sure that she can't make any further moves against Alistair or you."

The Secretary's eyes narrowed.

"I have already begun making plans in that direction. I hope we don't need them, but…I would rather see a possible enemy's head on the chopping block than my own."

His smile returned.

"I'm certain that you can see the wisdom in that, yes?"

Bea kept her expression neutral, normally she would have disagreed; many in Ferelden still loved and respected Anora MacTir, no matter what her father had done or not done.

If she was eliminated without a good reason, the former queen's allies would come down hard on the culprits, at the same time, if allowed to continue on as she had; Anora might end up rallying enough support to harm Alistair in the long run.

Bea did not want that.

She would do nothing to harm Alistair.

She sighed again.

She really saw no way to win here, she just needed to play the hand she had been dealt and hope for the best.

Once again her eyes drifted over to the executioners block and weapons. She truly believed what she was doing was in the best interests of Ferelden. Yet she was smart enough to recognize what could come to pass if she lost favor in the court.

Loghain MacTir had believed that he was doing what was best for Ferelden too.

It had not saved him from the headsman's ax.

Four guards emerged from the fort proper; they made their way over to Bea and her allies. Accompanying them was a small elven woman with dark black hair pulled up into a tight bun.

Rich recognized her immediately.

He leaned in so that Bea could hear him.

"Erlina," he said, "Anora's handmaiden."

Bea nodded.

If the former queen had sent her handmaiden down, then it was clear that their desire to meet with her would likely go ahead after all.

The elf stood before them. She gave Lis Cousland a respectful nod, no doubt recognizing the warrior woman's family ties. She gave a curt nod to Bea, glancing away almost as quickly as she had first set eyes on her. Then…the handmaiden's eyes fell on Wilbur Rich.

She scowled deeply, her elven ears lowering in disrespect.

The Secretary chuckled.

"Hello Erlina," he said jovially.

"Fancy meeting you here."

The elf ignored his quip, once again her eyes settled on Bea.

"The Queen has been expecting you Lady Glass," the handmaiden said in a prim and proper Orlesian accent.

"My lady believes that you share much in common, and is grateful to you for acknowledging her request."

Bea smiled slightly and nodded.

"The Lady Anora's gratitude is most pleasing," the scholar said, "I've always looked on her as a personal hero."

She smiled again.

"I do hope we can come to some sort of understanding."

She might have been wrong, but she thought she could Rich smirking at her response. On one had she had praised Anora, but on the other she had insulted her, choosing not to use the title of Queen when referring to the widow of King Cailan.

Bea might have been wrong, but she thought she saw the elf flinch when she had referred to Anora as "lady" It was a small gambit in the game that was to come, but that did not mean that it was not a valuable move.

Rich was not wrong.

She could not afford to simply play Anora MacTir's game.

She had to turn it into a game of her own.

Step one was keeping the former queen off balance, coming here as an admirer, might go a long way towards doing that.

Erlina sniffed and turned back the way she had come.

"Mister Rich will remain here," the handmaiden said, "The queen will not have such a man in her presence."

Rich chuckled.

"As 'The Queen' wishes," he said with an exaggerated bow.

"I would not wish to offend her… _delicate_ sensibilities."

Again the elf chose to ignore him.

She motioned for Bea and Lis to follow.

"This way," she said, "Quickly."

Bean and Lis followed her, the guards forming up around them, offering their protection as the two women passed through the rougher elements of the fort.

Bea said nothing; she was suddenly filled with nervous energy.

Soon she would stand before Anora MacTir, and hopefully turn what was to come to her and Alistair's mutual advantage.

It would not be easy, she knew that much, but it needed to be done.

Bridget Glass was intimidated by one legend already.

She had no desire to be intimidated by another.

She would face the former queen, and come out on top

That is what needed to happen.

That is what **would** happen.

She took another deep cleansing breath.

It was time to face Anora MacTir.

It was time to face the legend.


	63. Worries

**Chapter 63: Worries**

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?"

Alistair sighed heavily.

It was a ridiculous question, it truly seriously was. He could list more than a dozen things that were wrong at this very moment. Fighting in the south, problems with the Orlesians, the chantry questioning the integrity of Bea's work, and…most important of all…

He shook his head.

The fact at this very moment, Bea was likely sitting down with Queen Anora. Who knew what the former monarch wanted to see her for.

The king's frown deepened.

The former queen was quite cagey, and she was clever. What if she somehow convinced Bea that he was not good for her? What if she convinced her that she could do better? What if that was how she would take revenge on Alistair…?

 _What if she intended to rob him of his happiness?_

 _What if she intended to leave him all alone?_

A cold wind rattled the windows; he tried not to think of the consequences of what was happening in Fort Drakon right now.

He tried to focus on his work.

He had been asked by Shianni to moderate some problems between the city merchants, and the Denerim alienage. The merchants had gone to Arl Glass to look out for their interests, and in response he had sent his daughter in law Jayne.

Alistair had been surprised by that, the Arl; currently trying to deal with some issues with his Orlesian contacts had originally tapped his son Quentin to handle the negotiations.

When Jayne had walked into the room, he had given her a curious look.

The blonde had merely shrugged.

"My husband has asked me to attend this meeting in his stead," she informed them.

He gave her a concerned look.

"Are you sure you are up to this Milady," he asked, "You condition…"

She had offered him a slight curtsey.

"I may be with child, Your Majesty," she said, "But my mind remains as sharp as ever and as for my skills…well… I had to negotiate many things during my time in the chantry."

She gave Shianni a gentle smile.

"Shall _we_ begin?"

As it turns out, he did not have to do much. Shianni had complaints, and Jayne answered them. Most of the time he just sat there admiring his hair, or thinking of cheese, watching the two of them negotiate back and forth. He only had to intervene twice when the Shianni's temper started to flare. Jayne Glass did not seem bothered by that, perhaps it was her chantry training, or her noble upbringing, but she always seemed to bring Shianni back on topic, the continued welfare of both the capital and its elven citizens.

The thought almost made him smile.

It was nice that he didn't have to do anything here. If only the rest of subjects behaved and worked so well. Jayne was a fine addition to the Glass family. Arl Nathaniel had made a good choice. Shianni…she…

All sense of amusement faded. He rose and went to the window.

Shianni…she…she reminded him of…of…

He…he tried not to think about it.

It had been Jayne who had asked him if he was feeling alright. He realized he had to say something; it would not do to simply ignore the lady's question.

Right now, Jayne and Shianni were two of the most powerful women in Denerim.

He could not afford to alienate or insult either of them.

"It is nothing," he said trying to smile. "I was just admiring the drapes in here, I don't think I like the color."

He then gave them both a wry smile.

"What do you think of cheese yellow? I've always been fond of that color, though it does make me hungry at times."

Jayne Glass gave him an arched look, she glanced over at Shianni.

The elven noble rolled her eyes.

"This is when His Majesty hides behind his sense of humor," the elf informed her.

"He **does** that a lot."

If Alistair was bothered he did not show it.

He chuckled slightly.

"I would use a shield if I could, though I don't think many would think well of me for that."

Shianni snorted and gave him a sympathetic look. If anyone knew what was getting to him, it would be her.

The elf gave him a sympathetic look.

"She is going to be fine Alistair," she said, "She's tougher than she looks."

Surprisingly, Lady Jayne nodded.

"My new sister is quite clever," she added, "I believe that she can handle whatever it is that our former queen wishes to talk about."

Alistair gave her a curious look. He was surprised to hear such… _affection_ in Jayne Glass' voice.

The woman had always seemed so…indifferent to her new family.

Perhaps the fact that she was carrying Bea's little niece or nephew had caused her to warm up to House Glass.

Of course, it wasn't all about Bea, he was worried about her sure, but it was not the only thing that was eating at him, he…he…

He sighed.

Maybe it was the fall, he thought…

He always thought of Kallian during the fall.

IOI

The anniversary of the battle of Ostagar had passed again, and he had spent it as he had spent the last one. He had gotten drunk and locked himself in his quarters, leaving strict orders that he was not to be disturbed. Eamon had learned not to say anything about how the king marked the day of the great battle. Even Bea had not known what he was doing…

It was for the best, he thought.

Some things are best kept private.

He…he preferred to keep what happened on that day to himself. He had no problem being king any other day of the year, but the anniversary of Ostagar, the death of his brothers and Duncan.

That was something that he preferred to keep to himself, to mark the day as he saw fit.

Of course, the memories of that day were not all bad. After all, it was the day he had met Kallian for the first time.

That was one memory that he continued to treasure.

Even after all this time, he could still see her standing in the courtyard, the sun glinting off her hair, the slight smile that had curled her lovely lips. He had been slightly dazzled by her, she…she had been like no other recruit he had ever seen. She had seemed so small to him then, so innocent. She had been amused by his sassing of a Circle mage he had been sent to find. The first impression he had had of her was not one of respect for a fellow warden, in fact, he had wondered if Duncan had not made a mistake. When he had first looked at her he had not seen a ferocious killer. That pale skin, the strawberry-blonde hair, and those guileless eyes, Kallian did not look like a warrior, and that was the truth.

He would be lying if he had said at that moment that Duncan had not made a mistake. The girl did not look the type for fight darkspawn; much less survive an extended battle with them.

No…he had been understandably worried when he had led her as the rest of the recruits into the Korcari Wilds that day. Then…he had seen her fight…

That was the moment he realized just how wrong he had been.

The memory of their time together came back to him, the battles they had fought side by side. Kallian was far fiercer than he had ever given her credit for. She had led their little group well as they had moved across Ferelden, gathering support of the treaties they needed if they were to face the darkspawn horde.

More importantly the two of them had grown close, **truly** close. He…he had never had really any luck with women before he had met Kallian. She had enjoyed torturing him with his… _inexperience,_ she was never cruel. Perhaps she simply seemed to enjoy watching his face turn red. She seemed to take pleasure in watching the red splotches to cover his neck. Still their unique partnership had continued, and slowly grew into something else.

The night they had kissed for the first time, he had asked her if he had been kidding himself, if the feelings that he had come to feel for her were a mistake. When she had insisted that they were not he had taken her into his arms, their lips had met.

It was like nothing that he had felt before.

It had not been long after that he finally took her to his bedroll. The memory of that moment was firmly burned into his mind. Her eyes, her lips, her slim, firm body, he had stared up at her as she had moved on top of him. She had smiled down as they made love, and he had looked up with complete devotion, a loyal worshipper gazing at his goddess.

He had been a willing slave that day, and she had been a kind and generous master, her gentle moans turning quickly into throaty cries of a passion. His mouth found her ears, her lips and her breasts. She…

Even now the memory made his body stir.

Then, as it always did, his memory shifted to the top of Fort Drakon, to finding Kallian lying near the body of the now deceased Archdemon. He had taken her into his arms, begging the Maker not to take her, to make it all not true.

They may have separated after the Landsmeet, but that had not removed his feelings for her, she was the first woman he had ever truly loved, he would have happily spent his life with her.

The king pursed his lips.

Her death has left a hole in his heart. A hole that had never truly been filled, the pain was no longer sharp as it had once been, it had been reduced to a dull ache, but it still remained.

Bridget Glass had slowly begun to fill that hole. For the first time he felt a small amount of true joy in being here, in being the king. Their work together made it seem possible that he could do something for his country that he could be the king that everybody seemed to think he was.

The first time they had made love had been…magical, at least for him. It was a strange and glorious thing, the fact that this clever, wonderful, and beautiful young girl had seen beyond his crown, and wanted to be with him anyway. He had always known that he would need to seek out another woman that, as king, it was what was required of him; he had a duty to Ferelden to find himself a queen. He had hoped that when he did she would be a woman he could at least talk to, that he could feel a sense of companionship, beyond simple duty to his station…

…with Bea, he thought he had found that.

During his darkest moments, on the anniversary of the Battle of Ostagar, he had feared that he was somehow betraying Kallian's memory, that by trying to move on with Bea he was insulting her somehow. It was stupid he knew, but that did not entirely eliminate the feeling.

It was like Shianni had told him. She did not believe that Kallian would want him to suffer. She would want him to at least try to be happy.

Now Bea was in Fort Drakon, talking about Maker knew what with Anora MacTir.

Who knew what was going to come out of **that** meeting.

The foul place had cost him his happiness once.

He did not think he could bear it if it happened again.

IOI

He told none of this to the two noble women sitting before him. For their benefit he managed a weak smile.

"You're both right," he set trying to smile, "Bea will find some way to turn this meeting into a victory, I'm sure of it."

It wasn't a lie, not exactly, but it did manage to hide the worry he felt, the fear that held an iron grip on his soul.

Bea would come through this all right, she had to.

Bann Shianni and Lady Jayne seemed to accept his explanation, they once again returned to their negotiations. Alistair did his best to follow along. He paid attention the best he could. Though it could not quell the worry in his heart, and the fear he felt deep in his soul.

Bea will be back, he thought, trying to reassure himself, Fort Drakon will not be the end of her, not like Kallian.

She would be back.

She **would** be **back.**


	64. The Lady of the Tower

**Chapter 64: The Lady of the Tower**

"You will only speak when spoken to. You **will** remember your place. You will address her only as 'Your Majesty.' You will…"

Bea nodded almost on reflex; Erlina had been giving her instructions since the two of them had first stepped into the Fort and began the long trek to the Lady Anora's tower. Most of what she had said was not new. Father had made sure that all his children were well trained when it came to meeting someone of higher rank, and even if she had not been trained by her Father, Lady Isolde had spent the last few months grilling her on matters of both manners, and proper behavior.

If anyone was ready for this meeting, it was Bridget Glass, but…but…

She could not quite stop herself from frowning, something about all this did not seem right. Bea was no fool, she knew what to expect when dealing with a noble, and so far…this did _**not**_ fit her expectations.

Something in the elf's behavior…it did not feel right.

No…there was something else going on…she was sure of it.

Anora had either forgotten, or chosen not to tell her handmaiden that it was Bea who had agreed to this meeting, not the other way around. The former queen had been asking questions and the scholar had been willing to answer some of them.

Bea pursed her lips.

She could have ignored Anora's questions, or even supported Rich when he started suggesting that the former queen needed to be removed. Yet, she had not; there had been a time when she had considered the Lady Anora both a hero and a role model.

It was because of those ideals that she had been willing to meet with the former noble, not to mention her own sense of curiosity.

Anora had always been well loved. She had even been respected in the highest courts of Orlais. Empress Celene herself had complimented Ferelden's former queen. Part of Bea wanted to know what Anora thought of her, she had long been considered a friend to scholars and scholarly pursuits.

Bea would have been lying if had said that she did not wish the elder woman's approval. She realized that that would not be easy to come by now. Even if Anora **did** believe in her work, her relationship to Alistair would likely make any of his favorites undesirable to her.

And should the former queen discover that she and Alistair were now lovers…

It was unlikely that Anora MacTir would have anything good to say about her.

…Highly…unlikely.

The scholar's brow furrowed. She tried to puzzle out what was going on here. She continued to listen to Erlina's instructions while at the same time started to try and figure out exactly what was going on here.

Was the former queen simply trying to embarrass her? She could see no value in doing that. Insulting her would do nothing to improve Anora's situation, it certainly would not get her out of Fort Drakon. Was she trying to sway Bea into doing something for her? Erlina's litany of instructions seemed to suggest that that was not the case either. The elf was not insulting her, but it certainly came close to that.

Bea quirked her lips.

 _What is your game, Your Majesty?_ She thought to herself…

… _And how can I turn it to_ _ **our**_ _advantage…?_

… _Mine and Alistair's._

As they continued their journey through the tower, Bea took notice of the subtle changes around them. The lower levels were clearly both a military garrison and prison. Fort Drakon's architecture was designed to invoke a sense of military strength, or fear from its prisoners. As the handmaiden led them on a winding path through the higher levels all that changed.

Tapestries hung on the walls. Furniture that was more at home in a noble salon than a military fort became the norm. The few rooms that they passed looked more like guestrooms in a noble tavern then cells in a prison, four-poster beds, writing desks in one corner, as well as decanters of fine wine. Such extravagance was not the kind of amenities that one usually found in prisons, of course this was not at all surprising.

A noble prisoner was still a _noble_ after all. One of the elite had to be guilty of a very serious crime before their fellows started treating them like lowborn murderer. Anora MacTir had committed no crime. She was here because she had becoming…politically _inconvenient_. She still refused to bend the knee to King Alistair, yet she had made no attempts to either escape this place, or rally the nobles to support her in a revolution.

No, the former Queen seemed content to remain here, and out of respect for what she had all been to them, she had been left in peace…until now.

Bea licked her lips, still trying to figure out what she was going to say to the former queen when they met, and more importantly what was the former queen going to say to her.

It would be better for all if Anora did decide to support them. If she finally let go of her pride and accepted that Alistair was now king. If she did that, then she would finally be allowed to leave this place. She could either return to her childhood home in Gwaren, or remain here in the capital. She was still good King Cailan's widow after all. As a dowager princess, she would be Alistair's sister in all but name, and treated with both the respect and love that that title implied. No one doubted that Anora had been a great administrator; she had ruled Ferelden well for the five years that she had been queen. She had performed all of the duties expected of her, save one…

Anora MacTir had never quickened, she had never provided Ferelden with a royal heir. Had she done so, the Blight may have played out quite differently. It would have cemented her rule as queen. It would have been the duty of every Ferelden noble to ensure Cailan's heir be put on the throne.

Yet…the king had had no heir.

The king had had mistresses of course, everyone knew that. He had been discreet about them, but everyone knew. In the aftermath of the Blight, Alistair's enemies had done their best to search for any and all of these women, hoping that at least one had gotten with child from one of her liaisons with him.

A child of Cailan, even a bastard child, would have more claim to the throne than a common born grey warden. Cailan's mistresses had at least come from noble families; any child produced from such a union would have been a very powerful weapon against the reigning king.

Fortunately, no such child had turned up, and those searches had all but ended now.

Now those enemies waited on Anora, hoped that she might rally them around her. Toady Bea hoped to dash that hope, to convince the former queen to finally accept that Ferelden had changed, or at the very least choose to retire into seclusion so that Ferelden could continue to rebuild.

Anora could do so much if she just accepted the truth, if she did not…things would likely get ugly again…

…very ugly.

Erlina led her to the last door at the end of a long hall, no less than ten Ferelden soldiers stood watch outside of it, both along the hallway and against the doorway itself. If anyone doubted that the former queen was still a prisoner, this show of force would dispel any such doubts.

Even from a cell, the former queen was still dangerous to the status quo. It was all the more reason to try to make her an ally, or at least not an enemy.

Erlina knocked on the door three times then stepped back. From within came a polite 'enter.'

Once again the handmaiden turned to face Bea, her expression unreadable.

"My lady will see you now," she said, "Remember what I have said."

Bea nodded, while one of the guards opened the door. Bea entered followed closely by the former queen's handmaiden.

She paused as she stepped through the door. A mix of surprise and respect colored her features.

She could now understand how Anora could endure imprisonment for as long as she had.

The former queen's cell was not a cell; it was a palace guest room.

The three room space that held Anora MacTir was larger than some lowborn houses. The furnishings, likely brought from the Queen's quarters in the palace, or her old home in Gwaren, spoke only of wealth and prestige. A large bookcase sat against one wall, while a comfortable looking armchair sat in a darkened corner by the low burning fire. Two chairs and a small table sat near one of the rooms two windows. It was here that Anora likely took her meals. The four poster bed in the corner was made, and the room showed no sign of clutter.

Bea's brow furrowed.

Even as a prisoner, Anora MacTir seemed to demand order. This…this…, Bea could no longer think of it as a cell, room was her kingdom now.

It was the only place left in Ferelden where the woman still had undisputed control.

As for the lady herself…

Bea bowed her head as she finally noticed the room's only occupant. Her heart fluttered slightly, a child's response to seeing one she had looked up to and admired for so long.

Anora stood by the window, looking down on Denerim far below. Her posture was relaxed, with her hands behind her back.

This did not look like a prisoner, Bea thought.

Even here…Anora still looks like a queen.

Erlina stepped around her and kneeled.

"My lady," she purred, "The Lady Bridget Glass."

"Thank you Erlina," the former queen responded, still not bothering to turn around.

Again Bea felt a slight twinge of inadequacy. Everything in the former Queen's manner suggested that it was she and she alone who had command of this situation.

It was… _intimidating_.

Don't let her throw you off.

She could almost imagine Wilbur Rich standing at her side, offering her advice in this meeting.

Anora likes game, the man had warned her, she will no doubt try to intimidate you, don't let her.

She could almost imagine the man's oily smile.

 _Remember **who** you are_.

Bea straightened her back. She remembered who she was; she was both the king's favored scholar and the daughter of the new Arl of Denerim.

Anora would not scare her into submission, not by ignoring her anyway.

The former queen held her ground for another thirty or forty seconds, then she finally turned and met her guest's eyes.

Captivity had done little to dull Anora MacTir, her blue eyes remained sharp and cunning, and her bearing remained noble. She still wore her blonde hair in the bun that had inspired so many girls to do the same years ago. Her slim yet curvy figure remained untouched by the ravages of prison life. Her dress was simple and unadorned, back fabric with white Orlesian silk highlights. The only acknowledgement of hardship that the queen showed was a heavy bear fur cloak that adorned her shoulders.

Anora acknowledged her guest with cool eyes. Bea tried not to flinch under that hard unrelenting gaze.

She managed a weak smile.

Anora sniffed, she looked Bea up and down evaluating her.

"Lady Glass," she said coldly.

Bea dropped to one knee.

 _Remain calm_ , she thought.

 _Remain strong._

"Your Majesty," the scholar said bowing her head.

Anora MacTir fell silent again; Bea could feel the other woman's eyes on her though she did risk meeting her gaze.

Finally, the former queen sighed.

"As I suspected," she said.

It took all of Bea's self-control to demand what exactly the other woman suspected.

Remain calm.

Remain strong.

"A glass of wine please, Erlina," Anora requested.

The handmaiden shuffled around her lady's guest and made for the decanter.

Only when the former queen had her refreshment in hand did she choose to address the scholar again, by this point her knee was starting to complain, she was unused to kneeling or so long.

"I have heard much about you Lady Glass," Anora said, "Some interesting rumors to be sure."

Bea managed a shrug.

"Some are likely correct, Your Majesty," she said, "Others…no so much."

Again Anora sniffed no doubt looking down her nose at her guest.

The scholar tried to hold her temper.

At the very least, she could ask me to stand, perhaps even to take a seat so that we can talk sensibly.

The fact that Anora had not…it was likely just another game.

Be calm.

Be strong.

The lady of the tower walked around her.

"I heard that you are a brilliant scholar, Lady Glass. That you believe there is a way to repair the damage the darkspawn did to the south."

"It is possible, Your Majesty. I…"

"I have also heard," Anora said interrupting her, "That you are not as brilliant as you claim to be, that you use your wiles to ensnare Alistair and build a powerbase for yourself and your family. That you are little more than a bit of frill hanging to the throne?"

Bea winced.

"I have heard those rumor myself, Your Majesty," she said, "I assure you they are…"

"You will speak when spoken to girl," the former queen snapped.

Bea's mouth slammed shut, though she did feel a brief surge of anger.

How dare the woman attack her.

She did not know Bea or her research.

The scholar was more than willing to defend both of needed.

She took a deep breath and let it out.

Be calm.

Be strong.

The former queen sighed.

"It is bad enough that I'm confined to this place," she said, "I must sit back and watch while that…while Alistair runs Ferelden into the ground."

Bea felt a surge of protectiveness for Alistair. He was more than just her king, and lover…

He was there king.

He deserved respect.

"He is…trying, Your Majesty."

"Trying…and failing. I have heard about the chaos in the south."

Bea dared a glance up, Anora was shaking her head.

"My father would have crushed such foolishness. Alistair is only showing how unfit he is by letting it continue."

Again Bea felt the desire to defend her man, her king, but her patience held that anger in check, still...

How dare the woman!

How dare her!

Anora stood before her Bea could see the woman's feet, and the hem of her gown.

"And what is this?" she purred.

Anora's hand came down and fingered Bea's pendant, the one Alistair had given her in Orzammar.

It was all the scholar could do to keep from wrenching it from the other woman's fingers.

Anora kneeled down, and inspected the rune stone.

"A pretty thing," she cooed, "A gift from our king, I suspect."

Bea took a deep breath and nodded.

The lady in the tower smirked.

"A pretty toy for a pretty mistress," she sneered, "Though in the end you will mean nothing to him, or perhaps he truly means nothing to you. Perhaps this is simply payment.

She gently raised Bea's chin with her hand.

"It is a most fitting payment for a whore." She said.

Bea could take it no longer.

Her blue eyes flashed with anger. She pulled the pendant out of Anora's hands. She was on her feet in seconds.

Anora did not back down, or away.

Bea was half a head shorter than the former queen, but she met her glared and did not flinch.

She did not back down.

The lady had insulted her.

She would not let that pass unmarked.

It took Bea a moment to find her voice again, to let the fury fade enough that she could respond without simply shouting at the former queen, her former hero.

When she did, her voice was as cold as a glacier and filled with the deadliest of venom. She struggled to keep her voice level, to keep from leaping on the other woman and ripping her eyes out.

" _I…am no_ _ **whore**_ _…Your Majesty_."

She spat out the title like it was a piece of rotten fruit. She could not help it. She was furious.

She had come here in good faith and the woman had both insulted her and her king. Perhaps Rich's plan was not good enough, she thought. Perhaps she needed to speak with Alistair when she returned to the palace.

Perhaps someone needed to make the arrogant bitch a **head** shorter.

Anora remained as cold as ever, she continued to evaluate the younger woman.

"I have insulted you?"

"Yes," Bea growled.

"I have made you angry?"

Bea almost rolled her eyes, but did not she continue to pin the other woman with a cold and furious stare.

"Yes." She replied, barely keeping her words from becoming a furious hiss.

Once again Anora surprised her.

The woman smiled slightly, slightly, and a bit imperiously.

"Good," she said.

Bea blinked. She was unsure of how to respond to that.

Anora's smile widened slightly.

"Hold onto that anger," she said, "You will need it if you desire to be more than a simple courtier, your king will need it as well."

Bea blinked still not sure what was going on.

Anora turned and went to the small table where she took her meals. Erlina pulled out a chair for her lady; then moved quickly to pull out the other for her guest.

The lady of the tower sat down and gestured for Bea to join her.

Surprise killed much of Bea's anger.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"I needed to see who you truly were," Anora responded, "I have no patience for sycophants or social climbers like my late husband's former mistresses, they claimed to have great skills too, but when push came to shove their only real skills was between their legs."

Anora shook her head.

"Harsh and impolite to say such things, but being queen meant facing hard truths."

She pinned Bea with a stern look.

"You will not last long at court without skill or the anger necessary to stand up to your enemies," the lady of the tower said, "You have the latter, now we shall talk and see if you have the former."

She gestured for Bea to sit.

"Please, Lady Glass," she said, "Let us sit and talk sensibly."

Again Bea blinked.

A test, she thought.

All this, Erlina's list of rules, Anora's harsh treatment of her when she entered…it…it was all a test.

She shook her head.

Mister Rich's words came back to her again.

Anora liked to play games. In that he had been right.

They had played, and perhaps…she had…won?

That was hard to say, but hopefully, before she left the tower today she would know if she won or not.

All she had to do was have the courage to take the next step…

…To play the next round.

She took a deep breath, and let it out; her anger went with it, most of it anyway.

Bea managed a smile, and curtseyed slight, a show of respect.

Anora nodded, and once again gestured for her guest to sit and join her.

Bea stepped forward.

Anora glanced at her handmaiden.

"Erlina, please bring my guest some refreshment."

The elf nodded and filled another glass for Bea.

The queen smiled again as the scholar joined her and took her drink.

"Now Lady Glass," she purred.

"Let us talk."


	65. The Queen's Desire

**Chapter 65: A Queen's Desire**

Thought they sat at the small table as equals, Bea could still not completely shake the sense of inadequacy that had defined her only moments ago. She had given the former queen what she had wanted, but at the same their conversation had proceeded according to the Lady Anora's design.

It was not how she had hoped that their meeting would go. She had come up here with such high hopes. Queen Anora was said to be both a learned, and practical woman.

So far, Bea had not been able to reach that version of Anora yet, the two were still feeling each other out, like two pit fighters in a dueling ring.

The thought almost brought a smile to the scholar's face.

A few moments ago, she had been ready to leap upon the queen and rip her eyes out, now they sat, sipped wine, and prepared for the next stage of their negotiations.

Mentally, Bea back pedaled; she tried to think of how best to take the lead in their next conversation. So far all she had done since coming here was dance to Anora's tune, like a good little puppet, or sycophant.

She continued to smile, but on the inside she was grim, readying herself for the next exchange.

She had come here to neutralize Anora, if she could not make her a friend, than at least she could make sure that the former Queen did not become an enemy.

The kingdom _needed_ that reassurance.

Alistair needed that reassurance.

So she sat back, sipped her wine, and gathered her wits for the next stage of their conversation. The dance that the two women now found themselves in had only just begun.

Now she had to make sure that she remembered the steps.

She fully expected the lady of the tower to try and fluster her again, now what she knew what to expect, she hoped that she would have better luck at keeping her temper. Anger made you foolish, father had told her that more than once.

The former queen had just proven that that was true.

Anora downed the last of her wine with a sudden tilt of her head and a raising of her cup. The former queen wiped idly at her mouth with a cloth handkerchief, and smiled at her visitor.

"I hold no grudge against Alistair," she said, "I want you to know that."

Her admission surprised Bea.

She had refused from the first day of his reign to admit that Alistair was king. It was for **that** reason alone that she had been imprisoned. She had become a symbol to those who continued to resist Alistair, a lone hope that if they toppled him, then Anora would be able to take up the throne again. All she had to do was admit that she was no longer the queen, and all would be well. His Majesty would have set her free long ago had she just cooperated. Nothing was holding the former Queen in the tower, only her own pride. All she had to do was bend the knee, swear fealty to His Majesty and she would be a free woman, a dowager princess of Ferelden. Anora had _chosen_ to remain here in the tower for years, years.

That was hardly the act of a person who did not hold a grudge.

Anora smiled slightly, clearly recognizing her skepticism.

"It was Alistair's elven tart that killed my father," she said coldly, "And that girl died long ago. She might have done it for Alistair, but it was not his choice."

The former queen shrugged.

"I cannot fault him for making the best of a bad situation."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"If that is true, Your Majesty, then why are you still here?"

The scholar shook her head.

"You could have been free long ago, rather than rotting in this place."

Anora chuckled.

"I would hardly call this rotting," she said gesturing to her lavish cell, "But I do see the point of your question. I chose to remain here for two reasons, reasons that may no longer be relevant. We will see after our conversation concludes. For now, allow me to explain…"

Bea gestured for the former queen to continue, her curiosity was now peaked.

Anora sighed.

"My first reason was Eamon himself," she confessed, "I saw Alistair's elevation as a power grab by he and Lady Isolde. Eamon had no more claim to the throne than my father did, but with Alistair he could legitimize his grip over the kingdom. I feared that the warden hero would end up the puppet of the Eamon and his allies. I had worked too hard over the years to simply hand all my accomplishments over to Eamon and…that wife of his."

Anora pursed her lips.

"I stayed in the tower because in this place, I was still visible. If Alistair's rule faltered, which I feared might happen, then Eamon would have to take tighter reigns, he might even have attacked my father's former allies out of a desire to avenge what happened in Redcliffe during the Blight.

"If that occurred, the people would need me close, to rally them, to prevent our home from tearing itself apart."

"In this place," she said gesturing to her cell, "I could stay close to power, to be available if my people needed me once again, and besides…"

The queen chuckled.

"My father spent many years in the army, many of the soldiers here trained under him or under men who trained under him, even though he fell from grace, he still holds great respect among the officers that he served with and elevated. Many of those officers still serve here, and the respect they had for him now extends to me. Only here, in Fort Drakon, would the daughter of Loghain MacTir be safe from machinations of Alistair's "allies." People who believe he would be best served with my death."

"Alistair would never behave so ignobly, Your Majesty," Bea said.

Anora snorted with amusement.

"Can you say the same about his allies?"

Bea winced, but after a brief pause, she nodded, she _hated_ to admit it, but she **could** see the Queen's point. Through his maneuvers with her father, she had come to see how much the Chancellor's will did influence power here in Ferelden. Had she not spent so much time with Isolde because of the Chancellor's desire to impress his allies with her skills? Eamon wanted the nobles to believe that she was good for Ferelden's future. And he wanted them to know that he supported her.

That was to be expected of course, many still saw Eamon as Alistair's kingmaker, far more so than the fallen Hero of Ferelden. It was in the chancellor's best interest to make everyone believe that she was as much his choice as she was Alistair's. It was manipulation, she recognized that, but it was manipulation she allowed because of her fondness for Alistair, it was best way that they could be together.

…As for Alistair's allies seeking the former Queen's assassination…well…

…Was she not here to prevent just that? Wilbur Rich believed that killing Anora would go a long way to stabilizing Alistair's reign.

She doubted he was not the only loyalist to Alistair who felt that way.

"I see your point, Your Majesty," she said as Erlina refilled their glasses.

Anora smiled slightly.

"I'm sure you do," she said, "I cannot imagine that Eamon was happy when you came into Alistair's life. I'm sure our dear chancellor would have preferred that the king take a woman with nothing between her ears but a desire to look pretty, and a willingness to help the king make as many little princes and princesses as humanly possible.

The lady gave her a cool smirk.

"Tell me, have you and Alistair been…intimate yet?"

Bea's cheeks flushed. She had no desire to talk about this with the woman, what she and Alistair did in the privacy of their quarters was their business, no one else's.

Of course, she suspected that the former queen already knew the answer to the question, that this was likely just another attempt to throw her off balance.

"A…a few times only, Your Majesty," she answered.

Anora gave her a knowing look.

You hesitated, but you still responded," She said, "That is good. You should not be ashamed of such things; it is expected of the king to be with a woman of noble breeding."

Anora winced slightly.

"The trick is making sure that those liaisons are with you, or at least kept private. Cailan had his women, but at least he tried to maximize discretion when he did so."

Bea frowned slightly.

"As far as I know," she said, "I'm Alistair's **only** companion."

Anora nodded.

"That is good," she said, "If you are fortunate it will remain that way, but that will not stop rumors. Every time he smiles at a pretty girl at court there will be rumors, as I'm sure you know already."

"I know, Your Majesty," she answered.

"Are you prepared to stomach those rumors, it can be trying at times."

Bea thought back to all that she had heard said about her. If you believed the talk, she and Alistair never left their quarters when he was in the palace, that she was a master manipulator who used her body to get everything she wanted. That she kept him bound to their bed, a sex slave that she only allowed out to fulfill his duties.

She took a deep breath.

I do my best to ignore what is said."

Anora gave her a pleased look.

"Good," she said with a slight nod, "I have heard that you were clever, it is pleasing to see that those rumors **were** true."

Bea accepted the comment for what it was.

Though…her curiosity did not abate, she had become intrigued to say the least.

"But you said there were **two** reasons for your being here? Eamon's rise is only one."

Anora's smile widened a bit.

"The second reason has to do with Alistair himself," she said, "Before I continue, I want you to know that I mean no disrespect to you, or him."

Bea nodded, it the last few months she had been forced to develop a very thick skin when it came to her relationship with the king.

The pragmatic comments by the former queen could be no more hurtful than the rumors that had swirled around her and Alistair since she had first come to Denerim.

"Please continue, Your Majesty."

Anora nodded.

"I cannot say that I _know_ Alistair," she admitted, "During my brief stay with Chancellor Eamon during the Blight he avoided me for the most part. I did however know his brother quite well. Cailan, Andraste keep him, and I had been friends since we were children. I saw his strengths and his flaws…"

Anora shook his head.

"His **many** flaws…"

Bea said nothing. She had never met good King Cailan.

It was not her place to criticize the man in front of his widow.

Anora pursed her lips.

"My greatest fear of Cailan's brother taking the throne is that he would **rule** like Cailan. My husband rarely took his duties seriously. He was always too caught up in his place in history. He thought that being the son of Queen Rowan the warrior and Maric the Savior meant that he would be the perfect king. He seemed to think that the kingdom would run itself because the son of the savior wished it so."

Anora sighed.

"It was **never** that easy."

Bea fought down her desire to leap to Alistair's defense. The former queen had not insulted her lover, but still her words rankled. She was merely voicing concerns, she reminded herself. If she had simply bent the knee and spoke honestly with the king about these concerns, she would have seen that she was wrong.

Alistair was not perfect, by no stretch of the imagination, but he was trying. He was not sitting back and letting others make decisions for him.

He was wrestling with those choices, and doing his best. He did not simply let Chancellor Eamon or Wilbur Rich tell him what to do or say.

He **was** trying.

That is why she respected him.

That is why she cared for him.

"Alistair is not like that, Your Majesty," she said.

"Really," Anora said giving her an arched look, "Is that your _professional_ opinion, or simply your **personal** one?"

The scholar briefly felt her temper bristle, but she fought it down. She tried to let her head guide her, to think analytically.

Anora was making fine points, points that needed to be addressed.

She would try her best to meet them head on.

"Alistair is making allies, trying to hold Ferelden together," Bea continued, "It is not easy, not with so many still questioning his rule."

"Yes, I have heard about the problems in the south. I still have a few friends at court willing to pass things along to me."

Anora leaned back in chair, sizing up her guest once again.

"Tell me girl," she said, "What did you agree to meet with me? I had questions about you, and hoped that you might answer them, that is what I wanted, but how about you?"

The former queen gave her an arched look.

"What did you hope to gain by our meeting?"

Bea blinked.

She had not expected the lady of the tower to lay her cards out so openly. She had to decide how best to proceed.

She could divert, make polite small talk, flatter the woman's ego, and hope to earn enough good will to do more later, or she could risk it all and put all her cards on the table, and let the chips fall where they may.

The scholar pursed her lips.

Her father was so much better at this than she was, Em to for that matter. She was a stranger to negotiations, but she was far from the political animals that her father and sister were.

It would be safer to back up, _wiser_ to, she could slowly build a rapport with the former queen, but if she did that, the queen might come to see her as just another social climber, a mistress to the king who was only interested in feathering her own nest. Of course, this could also be another test; Anora might take what Bea told her and slip it to her allies hidden on the royal court, allies that could get that knowledge to the rebellious factions in the south.

The plots and counter plots were enough to give her a headache. It was why she preferred botany, and the simple world of numbers. Plants did not scheme and lie, they did not wait until your back was turned and stab you in the back.

Science, _that_ was the world that she was most comfortable in, but in getting involved with a king she had stepped away from that world. The only way she could escape that world now was if she ended her relationship with Alistair and returned to her studies, never to return to Ferelden again.

The mere thought filled her with terror and dread.

She could not do that, not to Alistair.

She took a deep breath and mustered her courage.

She had a choice, politics or truth that was the choice that she had to make.

She chose the truth, and prayed to Andraste that she had not made a mistake.

"I wish to end the hostilities between Alistair and those that support you," she said, "I came here hoping to convince you to support us in making Ferelden strong again. Orlais' good will is starting to dry up, we need to be prepared if the Empire decides to take advantage of our recovery."

Anora said nothing, she simply listened.

Bea continued.

"I…Alistair needs to know who to speak with, who would your allies listen to, who would not be ignored if they suggested that Alistair may not be the foe they think he is. You do that for me…for him, and then I will do all in my power to make sure that your concerns are heard at the royal court."

Bea took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

She feared that she had said too much.

The former queen remained silent; she waited for her to respond.

When she did, Anora smiled slightly.

"Forgive me for being so blunt Lady Glass, but a simple scholar, even one so _favored_ by her king, could not give me what I desire at the royal court."

Bea frowned, she realized in that moment she had overreached, perhaps as Anora had expected her to. She let her feelings for Alistair get in the way of the truth.

She could offer advice, but she could not grant the former queen all that she had wanted. Having Alistair's ear only went too far.

She expected Anora to ask her leave. To tell her that she had wasted an opportunity to make a powerful ally.

Bea cursed herself for a fool.

Anora, however, was not done with her, yet.

The former queen seemed to take pleasure in seeing the younger woman squirm.

Her smile widened again.

"Still I admire your honesty, and your fire. There is definitely more to you than my allies suggested," She said, "most interesting."

Bea gave her a sheepish look.

"I try, Your Majesty."

Anora chuckled.

"Perhaps we can do business after all, Lady Glass," she said thoughtfully, "Perhaps it is time to leave my gilded cage and rejoin the world, perhaps you **can** give me what I want."

Bea was torn, part of her wanted to feel elated, the other part was filled with dread.

 _What exactly could she give Anora? What would be the price?_

She was not sure that she wanted to know.

Anora continued, in spite of her fears, or perhaps despite them.

The lady rose from her chair and went to the window, the one that looked down upon the city of Denerim, her expression thoughtful.

"You came here hoping to win a grand victory," she said, "I'm willing to let you have it, provided you are willing to pay the price for it."

Bea blinked.

Anora continued on.

"You are going to be a hero to the royal court, the girl that convinced Anora MacTir to accept Alistair Theirin as king. You will be the one who convinced the Dowager Princess to bend the knee to her royal brother, and to end months of indecision and division."

She turned to Bea with a sly smile.

"No one on the court would _dare_ question your position then, and just when they think you can do no more, your agents will deliver my father's supporters. Supporters that will help your king put down the rebellions in the south."

Anora took a step forward; she took Bea by the hands and raised her to her feet.

"This will be your victory, Lady Glass," she said seductively, " **Yours** and yours alone. Eamon will not be able to claim it, nor will your father, nor will that bastard Wilbur Rich."

The former queen's eyes narrowed.

"Do not trust him, Lady Glass," she advised, "The man cares only for Ferelden, **his** idea of Ferelden. He would see Alistair destroyed if it served his purpose."

Bea's eyes narrowed.

"I'm _watching_ him," she said.

"Good," Anora said," Now comes to the matter of _my_ price. What **I** demand of you for giving you so much."

Bea paled slightly.

The former queen chuckled.

"The price you pay will _not_ be easy, but it is not entirely _unpleasant_. There are pleasures in what I offer, if you are willing to seek them out. You will need to put away the scholar you have been and become something _more_. You will _need_ to convince Alistair that you **must** be something more."

"And…what exactly must I become?" Bea asked.

Anora leaned in close, so close that only the two of them could hear.

When she spoke it was barely a whisper, but it sent a chill down Bea's spine.

"You…will need to become **Queen** , Bridget of House Glass," Anora MacTir purred, "Both Alistair's wife, and a queen at **my** beckon call."

She stepped back and met the scholar's widening gaze.

"And _together_ we will make Ferelden strong again."

Bea swallowed hard.

Queen, she thought.

Alistair's Queen and Anora's…what? Confidant? Agent?

Spy?

It seemed impossible, but if she learned anything since coming to court that little was impossible here.

Me…she thought…a Queen?

It seemed unreal. It was never a goal she had sought. It had never been what she had wanted, but if it helped Alistair, was it not worth it?

If it helped Ferelden…was it not worth it?

She swallowed hard again.

Andraste help me.

Maker help us all.


	66. The Offer

**Chapter 66: The Offer**

"What?"

Bea winced nervously under Lis' stare. She did not blame her friend in the least.

She was still trying to decide what to make of Anora's offer. On the surface it seemed like a dream offer, the kind of thing that came along maybe once in a lifetime.

Bea had been around her family long enough to never trust such an offer at face value, if an offer looked too good to refuse; it was often a smart idea to do just that, refuse.

But the reward…

Bea shook he head.

She would be a fool to at least not consider the offer.

The reward if the offer was real…was far too great.

She had said nothing in the carriage ride back from Fort Drakon, though she had said that she wished to speak with Rich and Lis privately. The Secretary had responded by taking the two ladies to a Tavern a short distance away from the noble quarter. The sign on the door said closed, but Rich led them through the door like he owned the place. Workers looked up from what they were doing; a young elven waitress curtseyed, as the bartender came from behind his seat to greet them personally.

"Mister Secretary," he said with a bow.

Rich snapped his fingers and gestured.

"Every one out, please," he said loudly "Take a break, preferably for an hour. I **have** business."

The workers did not say another word; they all made for the back exits. Both Bea and Lis gave the man a curious look. Rich smirked and pulled out two chairs, offering them a place to sit. As for the secretary himself he went behind the bar, and selected a fine wine, and three glasses.

"I have only recently purchased this establishment, it is not open to the public yet," he informed the two nobles, "But the staff has been culled from my best employees. They would not discuss what they might overhear, but there is no reason to take chances."

He returned to the table and sat down.

"Now," he said with that oily smile they had come to know so well, "What did our former queen say?"

Bea took a deep breath and told them both everything. Anora's testing of her, her reasons for remaining in the tower, and the offer she had made in exchange for her support.

Rich poured them all drinks while he and Lis listened quietly. The warrior woman leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed in thought. Rich's expression remained blank, though Bea could imagine the wheels and gears turning in the Secretary's head.

Rich was clever, he no doubt could see the implications for this deal, what it might mean to Bea, and Ferelden, if she accepted.

Anora's warnings about the man remained fresh in her mind, but so was the fact that Rich had never done anything but support her. Did the man have an agenda, without question, whether that agenda ran counter to what she wanted remained to be seen.

When she had finished speaking she realized that she had drained her glass. The Secretary refilled it, and leaned back, an amused expression on his face.

"So," he said calmly, "what do you think?"

She chuckled nervously.

"I was hoping to ask you the same thing," she answered.

Rich shrugged.

"It would be quite the coup," he said sipping idly at his wine, "Anora is not wrong, the woman who secured her loyalty would be almost untouchable in the eyes of the royal court."

Lis snorted slightly.

"I don't see what the Lady Anora gets out of this," she said, "According to her own words, she has no problem with her… _accommodations_ in the tower, why make such an offer now?"

The warrior woman gave her friend a worried look.

"Then there is the matter that Anora will think that Bea here owes her everything. From everything my father used to say about our former queen, she is not one to shy away when it comes to collect such a debt."

Lis turned to Rich.

"Bea is a noble woman of a powerful family, the daughter of the Arl of Denerim, and she has the eye and affection of our king.

The warrior pursed her lips.

"If she wants to be queen, she would not have to try hard to take it. Alistair does not take me as the type to play idly with his women. If Bea could be queen anyway, why volunteer to become Anora's puppet?"

Bea said nothing. She was grateful for her friend's support, but she did not think that it would be as easy as all that.

Rich chuckled.

"Spoken like Bryce Cousland's daughter," he said politely applauding her, "People are unwise to see you as just a sword, Milady."

Lis sniffed, such compliments were often used to simply pacify, she knew that no doubt.

Rich was many things, first among them a man who knew politics.

He would not manipulate the warrior so easily.

She turned again to Bea.

"What did the Queen offer her exact wording?"

The scholar sighed.

"She offered the names of the men and women most likely to pacify her father's old allies. The people that I would need to get those that supported her behind me. In exchange, she would bend the knee to Alistair, accept her place as a dowager princess, and make no moves against Alistair or his agenda."

Bea sighed as she leaned back in her chair.

"I will need to be queen before all this comes to pass. Alistair must formally announce our engagement, and the date of my coronation."

The scholar swallowed hard.

"If I can do that, she will give me what she offered; provided that I'm willing confer with her on matters of import, so that she may voice her own concerns to the court through me."

Bea shook her head.

"She does not expect me to be her parrot, but she does expect that I yield to her experience when it comes to serious issues."

She turned back to allies.

"What do you both think? Is all this worth what she is asking for it?"

Rich ran his finger idly over the rim of his glass, gathering his thoughts. Lis lowered her eyes; she recognized the gravity of what was being discussed in this room.

What they were discussing now, could likely be the future of their nation.

"My mother always spoke well of Anora," Lis finally said, "She cared for her, and tried to be a kind ear when our former queen was younger. Offering her what she thought she needed to know to be a good queen and wife for Cailan."

Bea's brow furrowed.

"But?" she inquired.

Lis sighed.

"As far as I can tell, she said nothing when Howe had my family butchered. She did not raise a finger to see if any of us had survived."

A shudder ran through the warrior's large frame.

"What I endured at Howe's hands, at the hands of his men…Anora did _nothing_ to stop that. She stood by as Loghain and Howe plunged this country into civil war, while the darkspawn slaughtered innocent people."

Rich coughed slightly.

"Anora would likely claim that she could do nothing while her father ruled as Regent."

Lis glared at him.

"Are you saying that you do not feel even the little bit angry when you look in the mirror Mister Secretary? You do not blame her even a little when you look at the scar around your neck?"

Rich's fingers went to the scarf he wore. A brief flash of anger shone in his eyes. Bea thought she might have to say something but Rich coughed and gestured dismissively.

Lis Cousland continued.

"Howe did not kill **all** my family, but he might as well have. My brother…what he did to us, Anora allowed that, and now she wishes to find her way back into the royal court."

"It will not be as easy as she hopes," Rich reminded, "Chancellor Eamon will definitely not approve of this deal, which I suspect is one of the reasons that Anora made it to you and not your father."

He smiled at Bea.

"Our former queen is apparently more than a little…annoyed at the Chancellor. Perhaps she even blames him for her time in the tower? Whatever the reason, if you do decide to accept this offer, you will need to watch yourself around Eamon."

Rich's smile turned slyer.

"He would not be very forgiving of all this."

Bea winced.

"What of Alistair?" she asked.

"You probably know His Majesty better than I do, Milady," he said, "If you took this offer to him, do you think he would reject it? Do you believe that he would not accept what Anora is offering him?"

Bea's brow furrowed.

A few times, Alistair had opened up to her, spoke of his fears and concerns. She knew that he still wondered if it would not have been better had they let Anora keep the throne.

If Anora could deliver what she was promising…wasn't that worth the risk?

They could end the threat in the south, or at the least weaken it. Without Anora's presence to keep the troublemakers unified, things might start to calm down. It might even help with her problems with the chantry.

Mother Allison would find it hard to call Bea an unskilled opportunist if she delivered Anora's support, and Anora, a long supporter of learning and the sciences would be a valuable ally indeed.

"I _might_ be able to convince Alistair," she said.

"That would be…commendable," Rich agreed.

Bea sighed again.

"Of course, all this discussion is likely going to end up not amounting to much."

She gave them a wry smile.

"For all this to come to pass…I need to be queen."

In this both Rich and Lis gave her an appraising look.

The scholar cringed under it.

"What?" she asked.

Rich chuckled.

"Considering His Majesty's…dealings with women of the court."

The secretary gave her a sly smile.

"The king wears his heart on its sleeve; he cares for you, Milady. He may even view marriage to you as the next logical step."

Lis shrugged.

"It is not like you have competition," the warrior said, "It is not like the palace is full of royal mistresses right now. As far as women in the king's life, you're it."

Her friend smiled.

"If Alistair was to marry anyone, it would likely be you."

Bea blushed.

Her friend and ally both made good points, but…

But…

A frisson of fear ran through her.

Queen, she thought.

Me…the queen!

She tried to imagine what that would be like. Sitting on a throne next to Alistair, presiding over the royal court with him, and alone when he was not available.

She was a woman of science. She understood politics, but unlike Em, Quentin and her father, she despised the whole sorry business.

If she became Queen, she would not be able to simply continue with the life she had chosen for herself. Her dreams of scholarly advancement would be eclipsed by her new duties.

She would be a voice for her nation, she and Alistair both. She could advance Ferelden, make it more open to people such as herself, but the power needed to do that would be both liberating and confining.

She would never again be the scholar; she would be outside that world, only able to look in.

That fact was a little terrifying.

At the same time, her enemies would no longer be just hers they would be Alistair's as well. She did not believe for a moment that Mother Allison would simply let what had passed between them just fade away.

If someone struck at her through Alistair, she was not sure if she would be able to forgive herself.

Rich, perhaps sensing her worry, bowed his head respectfully.

"If you become queen, you will not be alone," he promised, "I offered you my services, and to that offer I hold true."

Lis sneered at him.

"Why Mister Secretary," she said, "Are you in danger of becoming a good man?"

Rich snorted.

"Don't tell anyone, I have a bad reputation to uphold."

"I'll keep that in mind," the warrior said, "and you should keep in mind something as well."

Rich tilted his head curiously.

Lis' expression turned downright frigid.

"If you betray Lady Bea or Alistair, you will also be betraying me. Howe was the last man who betrayed me, and I never got the chance to… _reward_ him for that.

She smiled coldly at the secretary.

"You would not find that reward _pleasant,_ Mister Secretary, trust me."

Wilbur Rich smirked.

"I know what I would have done to Howe if he had fallen into my tender mercies, I can only guess what you would do, Lady Cousland. I do not endeavor to such fate."

He smiled once again at Bea.

"I serve my king and the realm," he said, "You can trust me in that."

Bea nodded. She would still watch the man of course; he was too shifty not to be watched.

But for now…she would keep faith with him.

He had done no less for her?

"So now what?" she asked.

Rich chuckled.

"Now you have to find the right way to bring this offer to the king," he said.

Bea paled slightly.

How would she tell Alistair about this? He was no doubt going to ask.

Marry and have a chance at reunification, or continue on as they had, and risk Maker knew what kind of trouble.

It should have been an easy solution.

Alas…it wasn't.


	67. Inappropriate

**Chapter 67: Inappropriate**

She had returned to the palace and her tower with barely a word to anyone. Bridget Glass had passed the servants by, asking only that she not be disturbed, except by the king, should he require her.

Right now, the king was trying to figure out what to say to her now that he had.

Alistair paced in his quarters. He had hoped that Bea would come to him after she had returned from Fort Drakon; he had hoped that she would relieve his curiosity about what had occurred when she had met with Anora MacTir.

Unfortunately, she had done neither.

His insecurities remained. He feared that she was up in her tower right now readying her experiments for transport; he feared that he would hear servants in the hall removing her things from her room, readying them for the journey out of the palace…

But most of all…he feared that she was leaving him here, alone.

That thought, that fear…it was almost crippling.

He had spent the bulk of the day trying to stay focused on his work. Shianni and Lady Jayne had not really needed him to moderate their dispute, when they had left neither had been livid or displeased, neither woman had claimed total victory, but at least they had not been ready to come to blows.

They had left…feeling that progress had been made, or at least he thought they had. Neither woman was entirely satisfied, but at least they felt that they had not lost to the other.

Shortly after they had left he had received a request from Arl Glass, being that it was Bea's father he had wasted little time in opening it.

The request was…interesting to say the least.

The Arl was asking permission to hold a tournament in the spring, to honor the ascension of his family, and his soon to be born grandchild. The king saw no reason to deny that request, he remembered the tourneys back when he was still in the abbey, the celebratory air would likely be just what the people needed, a chance to show that Ferelden was truly on the road to recovery.

It would also give him a chance to advance an agenda of his own, something that he had been thinking about for quite some time. He had spoken with Shianni about it, and she seemed to think it a good idea.

A tourney was the best way for a knight during peace time to gain both prestige and honor. The king intended to use the Arl's tourney to give his elven citizens a chance to prove their metal. Through Kallian had seen elven courage, now, he was going to give the rest of the nation a chance to see it to.

He had already made up his mind, if one of the elves that fought in the tourney did well enough…he intended to see such a man or woman knighted.

The thought made him smile.

The first elven knight in centuries, a symbol that he did not intend to let Kallian's sacrifice be forgotten, as well as a hero to the all the elves of Ferelden.

Some nobles would challenge him on this, but he was determined not to back down. He owed it to the elves that had died defending Denerim.

He owed it to Kallian.

Such events had not been open to elves in the past, the powerful fearing that including them might lead the alienages to becoming saucy, or unmanageable.

He intended to prove those lords and ladies wrong.

When word reached him of Bea's return it was all he could do to keep from rushing up to her tower.

He thought of summoning Rich, asking the secretary what had come to pass, alas the man had not returned with Bea and Lis Cousland, he had been on his way out of the city on a business trip, he had only agreed to escort her because of his history with the MacTir family, by now the man was out of the city doing Maker knew what. Lady Cousland remained with her friend, their closeness made any attempt to summon her for questioning unadvisable as well.

Alistair shook his head.

It had become apparent to him early in his reign that a king could **not** do anything he wanted, not if he wished to keep the faith with his subjects.

Alistair, seeing no other recourse, sent Bea a request to join him to dine this evening. If she said yes then he would be able to learn more then, if she refused…

Well…he was not sure what he would do if she refused.

Eamon came to see him shortly after he had sent the invitation. The Chancellor was unhappy with the whole affair, he felt that Alistair should have summoned the girl to the throne room, demand a report of what had been said.

" _The former queen cannot be trusted, Your Majesty. I would advise you to treat this matter with caution."_

Alistair informed him of his invitation to dine, and said he would learn more when she joined him.

The Chancellor had scoffed at that.

" _So you are at_ _ **her**_ _mercy in all this?"_ he inquired, _"and as a result put us_ _ **all**_ _at her mercy?"_

"It is Bea's place to share what was said is it not?" the king replied with a shrug.

Eamon gave him a stern look.

" _It is inappropriate for the King of Ferelden to be at a simple girl's beckon call."_

"Probably," Alistair answered, "But then again, I'm not the most _appropriate_ of kings."

The chancellor left him then, clearly unhappy with his choices.

Alistair endured that unhappiness. He was used to feeling Eamon's scorn, both the imaginary and the real thing.

He had dealt with such feelings years ago, during his time in the abbey.

Yes Alistair knew how to endure the former Arl's disappointment.

Still…he thought about what Eamon had said to him. He may not have been _wrong_ , but he had not been entirely _right_ either.

As king he could have ordered Bea to come before him and make a full report, but in doing so he might have harmed what was developing between him and the lady.

He had no desire to do that.

Could he have been more forceful? Of course he could have. He knew that Eamon was not entirely happy with his relationship with Bea. In the Chancellor's eyes there were far better matches for the young king, women who would behave more… _appropriately_ , and do their duties for both Ferelden and the royal court.

He had met his share of such women. They would have come when he asked and offered no complaint. They would have fed their king's ego, and given him pleasure whenever he asked, feeling it was their duty to the crown.

Alistair did not want such a relationship. It sounded… _empty_ to him. He preferred what he was finding with Lady Glass.

He and Bea… **that** felt real.

He had learned to be a gentleman during his time in the chantry. He believed that when it came to relationships, a man should put his woman on a pedestal. Kallian had laughed at those ideas, but had accepted them as part of her relationship with him. She had still seen herself as a girl from the Alienage, even when her adventures during the Blight proved that she was something so much more.

He frowned.

It had taken him a long time to move on after her death. When he looked at Bea, he had hope; he thought it possible for the first time to live a life where he just might find some happiness. That he had a chance to have more than a life of duty sitting on his father's throne.

Bea was not like other girls, and that is what drew him in, just as Kallian had drawn him in.

Kallian had been like no one he had known before. When he had looked at her, he had seen more than a pair of pointed ears. He had seen her grace, her beauty, and her passion. She had been a creature of sweet sensuous skill. It was that skill and passion that she had offered him once they had finally surrendered to their mutual attraction, when they had finally become lovers.

He had learned so much from her, she had given him so much.

Her death had left him cold, but slowly…surely…Bea was rekindling those flames, and he was grateful for that, despite what any of the court might think.

Bea was smarter than him; he had no problem with that. When she believed him wrong she told him so, but gently, respectfully, then she explained why. He accepted that, while other girls would say he was right simply because he was king, Bea did her best to enlighten him, to prevent him from making a mistake before it grew into something that would harm his innocent subjects.

He appreciated that, he _welcomed_ that, but his fondness went beyond the academic. As much as he respected her wisdom and intelligence, he still desired her beauty and passion. In Orzammar, she had proven that she was more than capable of firing his blood; their time together had not only slaked his lust, but awakened a fire that had been silent since Kallian died.

She had given him a taste, and now, he found that he wanted more.

Bridget Glass in short, was the perfect package, a blend of both beauty and brains. He could have not asked for a more perfect companion. Was it any doubt why he lo…lo…

Alistair paused.

The line of thought had stopped short, but he knew what word had nearly come to mind, he…

There was a knock at the door. He bade the person enter. An elven page entered with a deep bow.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"The Lady Glass sends her greetings," the man said, "and accepts your invitation for this evening."

Alistair smiled.

He was more than pleased.

Bea was coming.

Now…he had to decide what he was going to say to her.

Not an easy challenge that.

No…not an easy challenge at all.

IOI

Once again she made her way to the king's chambers. Once again her heart beat like a bird in a cage, as if what trying to escape her chest.

Bridget Glass tried not to be nervous. She accepted the fact that she would need to bring Anora's offer to Alistair and that together that they would need to decide what was best for both them and the kingdom as a whole.

She was simply not sure how to broach the subject?

He was going to ask her about it, she knew that much. She would tell him that the Lady Anora was ready to bend the knee, and accept that her days of being queen were over, but in doing so she would bring Ferelden politics into their relationship, into the very bed that they shared on occasion.

She frowned deeply.

She feared that what they had would not survive that inclusion. Even though she had known that it was only a matter of time until such a happenstance came into being.

She hated politics. It was why she had turned to the scholarly pursuits in the first place. Yet there was no way to escape it, when one… _cared_ for a king, politics would always get in the way. It was as certain as the rise and fall of the tides.

Her greatest fear was that Alistair would be angered by the offer. That he would think that this was something she had planned from the very beginning that she had been using him. She feared that he would send her away, feeling that he had been betrayed and used by her and her family, a fact that was not entirely untrue.

Her family had profited from her relationship, but it had not been the sole reason that she had stayed. She cared about him, she truly did.

She did not wish for Anora's offer to come between them now.

She had gone back to work as soon as she had arrived back at the palace. Working had always settled her mind, it helped her think. When Alistair had sent word that he wished to dine with her, she accepted without a moment of fear.

If she had to face this, she preferred they do it in private, away from the opinions of the royal court.

Those opinions would need to be faced later, after the two of them had finally decided what to do.

She stood outside his door gathering her courage. Several of the guards she had passed had been whispering about her, she had not really heard what had been said, but she had not needed to.

Her sister had told her about some of the rumors that were now floating through the palace, that and more than a few snide comments.

 _Their goes the king's little gardener,_ one had said, _ready to get a little planting of her own._

Bea had not decided how best to respond to such comments yet. She had been enduring them since she first set foot in the capital.

She was not surprised of course.

She knew what some on the royal court still thought of her. They still saw her as a concubine, thing king's plaything, little better than a whore. They had criticized her before she had begun sleeping with Alistair, saying that she was sleeping with him to gain power and prestige, now that they **were** sleeping together, they thought those early rumors had now been confirmed.

She realized that she could do little about the rumors. She could tell the king, but did not wish to make more enemies by doing so. She could endure a bit of scorn. Once her plants had successfully cleansed the Blighted lands in the south, everyone would know that she was more than just an ambitious girl using her wiles to get what she needed out of the king.

She would show them all.

One of the king's servants opened the door for her, the man smiled at her.

"He is ready for you Milady."

She took a deep breath and smiled.

Here goes nothing, she thought.

She entered Alistair's room.

The table had already been set for their meal, far finer that what she had dined on back either at their family estate or at the university. The king stood waiting for her only a few steps away.

He smiled shyly at her; she blushed and dipped her head.

Maker's breath, she thought.

How did he do that?

"Lady Glass, Your Majesty," the servant said.

"Milady,' he said bowing slightly.

"Your Majesty," she said dipping in a respectful curtsey.

Alistair glanced over her shoulder at the servant that had seen her in.

"You may leave us now," he said.

"Your Majesty," the man said bowing, he turned, leaving the two of them alone.

He waited until the door was fully shut, but only just.

Alistair went to her, and she to him.

She found herself in his arms, their bodies pressed against each other, the smell of him robbing her of her fears and nervousness.

"Bea," he murmured into her hair."

"Alistair," she sighed.

He pulled back, she could almost feel the concern radiating off of him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied.

He shook his head.

"I was worried," he admitted, "I wasn't sure what Anora wanted with you, I thought…"

She gave him that little smile he had been so smitten with since the beginning. She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

She had learned to gauge his moods over the last few months. She could guess what he had been worried about.

She was determined to set his mind at ease.

"I'm fine Alistair," she murmured.

" _We're_ fine."

Her declaration put him at ease, he smiled slightly.

"I'm glad," he said sheepishly.

"I…I…"

"Yes?"

He blushed slightly.

"I'm an idiot," he said, "thinking that you would…"

"You're not an idiot," she said going up on her toes, kissing the tip of his nose.

"You're a very special man."

He smiled and leaned down, kissing her gently on the lips. She did not resist as he pulled her tighter into his arms.

Alistair's kiss deepened, becoming more fierce, hotter. Bea's body warmed under his attention. She felt his strong warrior's fingers moving down over her body, tracing lines of heat down the silk of her dress.

She moaned slightly, on the verge of surrender.

Such passions were considered in polite company most inappropriate, but here…right now…she…she…

Bea sighed.

Finally, she found her strength…barely.

She pushed him back. He was panting, looking at her hungrily.

"Whoa there," she smirked, "The servants have prepared this fine meal for us. It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

He glanced back at the table, and at her.

"I…um…suppose you are right," he said sounding a little disappointed.

She smiled and kissed him chastely on the lips.

"Food first, we can play after."

He considered her offer, weighing it carefully.

Finally, he backed away, taking her hand, and kissed it.

She could see the hunger in his eyes; it was not an easy thing to resist.

Yet…she managed.

"Your wish is my desire," he said in a husky voice.

She gave him a sly smile.

The promise of playtime had satisfied him…

…for the moment.


	68. Darkness and Fire

**Chapter 68: Darkness and Fire**

"What are we even doing here?"

The grumbling of the boy's fellow soldiers was not lost over the keening wind. The desolation left here during the Blight did little to hide the recruits…complaints.

Arland Glass rolled his eyes, he had spent a lot of time on assignments that he did not find pleasing, and learned long ago that there was no point in bitching about it. His first posting had been a small freezing wooden outpost on the Orlesian border. He still remembered how the cold had seemed to sink into his bones. Even a month after he had left that posting he had still felt cold, part of him had feared he would never be warm again.

In time, that had passed, just as this assignment would pass…eventually.

He looked at the soldier that had spoken, just a pup really. Bryant was his name, or maybe it was Brian, Arland could not remember. The young man had grown up in Highever, and had likely been a part of the riots that finally unseated Thomas Howe.

Most of the soldiers here had similar stories; these had joined up in the last year or so, most never having tasted real battle. He doubted if any of the men and women who had come up here with him had seen any action during the Blight. Most of them looked at him like he was some kind of war hero because he had survived the Siege of Denerim.

If any of them only knew…

If there was any fighting to be had, it was now focused on the southern farms to the west or along the Amaranthine coast. The Blighted lands were stable now, for the most part, there was nothing here for bandits to prey on, except maybe this small camp, as for the darkspawn, most of the beasts had fled north, to engage the new warden base there, he had heard that there had been fighting along the coast, the monsters even growing so bold as to attack Vigil's Keep and the port city of Amaranthine itself.

The warden-commander had put down that attack, and though the Vigil had been badly damaged, both it and Amaranthine were expected to make a full recovery.

He looked over at Bryant, the boy thought this task boring, had probably joined up looking for a bit of excitement. If a darkspawn raiding party found them, he would wish that it had stayed boring. Fighting bandits was one thing; bandits were just out for profit. Darkspawn…

Darkspawn were monsters.

The small detachment he was a part of had been assigned to watch over Bea's little experiment in the blighted part of the Hinterlands. He still found it hard to believe that where he was standing was still a part of Ferelden. The Hinterlands around Redcliffe remained wooded and full of life, but here…in this place.

The soldier shuddered.

In this place…only darkness remained, at least…for now.

Arland regarded his fellow soldiers; most of them here were new recruits, the veterans being sent to watch the Orlesian borders or to patrol the roads leading north. He would be with them right now if new orders had not come down from Denerim. His transfer to this guard detail had his father's fingerprints all over it. Arl Nathaniel did not prefer to leave Bea's experiments unwatched, and felt that only family could be trusted, despite the fact that Arland could likely be used elsewhere. The trouble in the south continued, though if his father's last letter was accurate, they would hopefully see an end to that, schemes were cooking in Denerim, and it was not surprising that his father was trying to find his way into the center of them.

The Arl's eldest son resented that, just as he resented being taken off the front lines. He was far more valuable fighting than babysitting his sister's garden; still…an order was an order.

Arland Glass was a soldier; he did as he was commanded.

If only his fellows were so inclined, they would all be a lot better off.

"When I joined up I never thought that I would have to spend my time defending some noble's garden," Bryant complained, pointing towards the small tent city camp where Bea's Tranquil assistant and her fellows tended to the plants Bea had planted months ago.

IOI

When he had arrived, Arland had gone to speak with the woman, Talia was her name. She had given him a tour of the camp, showing what they had accomplished. The plants that they had brought were in the largest tent, surrounded by magical crystals to keep them warm.

Arland had shuddered at the sight of them.

They might have been normal flowers…once, but now they were fierce black and dark green looking things. Their leaves glistened in the dim light, and most were covered with spikey thorns. Most of the blooms were closed, but those that were not seemed to be dripping with some venomous looking nectar.

"Not very pretty to look at," he said dryly.

The Tranquil tilted her head slightly.

"Beauty is not necessary," she said in that monotone voice of hers. These plants were bred to clear the soil of the taint that has left it barren, they were grown for this purpose. Once that purpose has been served, the land will be ready for regular plants again, maybe even crops."

Talia took one of the glowing crystals from where it hung; she pointed the light it generated at the base of several of the plants.

Arland arched and eyebrow.

He was no scholar, most of what Bea said went over his head, when she tried to tell him about her work, but even a blind man could tell that the misshapen plants were having at least some effect on the soil.

Underfoot, the ground here was nothing but gray and purple sand, devoid of any life, even worms. The area around where Bea's plants were blooming, the soil looked…well…if not normal, at least not so dead. It appeared almost brown again, mixed with black.

"Nothing grows here," the tranquil added, "Yet Lady Glass' plants survive, they may not be thriving, but the soil has not killed them."

"So…you…you think it is possible that my sister's little experiment will work? You think these plants might be the key to restoring the lands affected by the darkspawn to their former state?"

"It is possible," the tranquil replied, "We have already begun taking seeds from some of these, if these plants are successful, they may be of use in our lands affected by the darkspawn. We may find them of value for export."

Arland considered that. The Anderfels were said to be a desolate place, made so by so many generations of Blights. The Western Approach in Orlais was yet another desert, those lands destroyed by the darkspawn long ago.

If Ferelden did manage to find a way to reverse that, If Bridget's work truly bore fruit…?

His little sister might one day be remembered as a hero. One day, all of Ferelden might look upon her as a savior, the one who brought life back to a world touched by the darkspawn.

That fact alone made Bea's work worth defending. It very well might be the future of Ferelden.

In the back of his mind Arland could almost hear his father's voice telling him why Bea's work had to succeed, that with her success their family's fortunes would continue to rise.

After what had happened with Jayne, Arland could care less about their fortunes, but that did not mean that he would do anything to embarrass Bea. His little sister deserved to reap the rewards of her brilliance if she was right. Far better that than her simply being known as the king's mistress.

Arland Glass frowned.

Em had written him when Bea and the King had begun…their…relationship. Arland was not sure what to expect. As an elder brother, he did not like the thought of any man touching his little sister, even a king. Margaret's letter had gone on, insisting that the king cared deeply for their sister, and that she suspected that Bea would likely be more than a simple mistress very soon.

He was not quite sure how he felt about that.

Bea had always been so focused on her work. He did not wish to see her, or her work suffer. If His Majesty grew bored of her, he might end up casting her aside; he had seen and heard of nobles doing such things before.

If the king broke Bea's heart, and her work suffered because of it, the loss would go beyond a loss of prestige for House Glass.

He doubted that his father even considered that. No, Nathaniel Glass was not the type of man to let a little thing like his daughter's happiness get in the way of his plans.

Arland knew that from experience. After all, Jayne was still married to Quentin after all.

As always thought of Jayne Wulfe filled the veteran soldier with barely controlled fury.

His life had been fine until Arl Glass had sent him to Cumberland.

Since then…since Jayne, he had known no peace. He…

He pushed such thoughts aside, what had happened between him and Jayne could not be undone. It was better to bury himself in his work and leave it at that.

He did his duty, and cared little for his father's continued success.

He had left the Tranquil girl to tend to her plants. It had taken all of Arland's soldier-hardened discipline to keep his feelings in check. He returned to his fellow warriors, setting up a perimeter so that they could protect the camp to the best of their abilities.

No matter what people might say about his personal life, Arland Glass was a good soldier. He knew how to keep emotion out of the equation, and focus on doing his duty.

Duty…that is what truly mattered now.

He would do what was expected of him.

It did not matter to him where his orders had come from, the king, his father, or the Maker himself.

Arland Glass was a good soldier, and good soldiers followed order.

An order was an order, he thought.

He would carry them out.

IOI

He had been sharpening his sword when it happened.

He had just held it up to the torchlight, inspecting his work. He could still here Bryant bitching to the others, but had almost managed to tune it out.

It was at that moment that one of the scouts called out, waking him out of his self-reflective stupor.

"What is that?" he heard the girl call out.

Arland had been on his feet in an eye-blink. Something in the girl's voice had set off a warning bell.

Bryant and the others hadn't heard her, the recruit was still complaining when Arland saw what had gotten the scout's attention.

"Silence," he called out.

The recruit ignored him.

"SILENCE!" Arland almost shouted.

All of the soldiers fell quiet, they may have been rookies, but they knew what to do when a veteran gave an order.

Arland had been around enough officers in his time to sound like one when he needed.

Weapons left scabbards as the soldiers moved to get a closer look at what the scout had spotted.

Arland found himself next to Bryant, the boy's eyes were wide; not sure what it was he was seeing.

Arland did not blame him.

He had no idea what he was seeing either.

It was a dark night; the clouds never seemed to clear out here in the Blighted lands.

Standing out starkly against the darkness, an eerie looking glowing green circle was crawling across the tainted ground. The soldiers were still a fair distance away from…whatever it was, but from what they could see it was not simply a solid shape.

It looked like some glowing green shadow, yet even from here he could make out that the thing was made up of interlocking rings of light, those rings seemed to rotate as the thing crawled across the land.

Crawled…right towards the tents of the scholars. Most were asleep now and probably had yet to notice the strange…thing.

Arland's good eye narrowed.

"Sound the alarm," he shouted.

The scout next to him nodded and started to raise her horn.

An arrow struck her in the throat; the scout staggered and yanked it out.

Her blood sprayed her fellows in the face as she fell.

Arland had barely had any time to react.

Arrows rained down on them.

"SHIELDS!" he shouted.

"SHIELDS!"

Several of his fellows brought up their shields, but not all.

Bryant and several of their fellows fell, their bodies peppered with arrows.

Arland ordered them to fall back. They could still not see who it was that fired those arrows, their attackers remained in the shadows they…

BAH-WHOOSH!

The night turned bright as day.

Arland dared to glance behind them.

His eyes widened in horror.

A pillar of green flame shot up into the sky, a swirling wall of fel fire. It fell upon the scholar's camp as another barrage of arrows fell on Arland and his company.

The air filled with screams and the roar of flame. Out of the darkness warriors charged, their battle cries drowned out by the roar of the fiery pillar and whistle of the wind.

Arland leapt forward, engaging one of their attackers. The man blocked and forced him back, he swung at the warrior's blindside.

Arland dodged, he had gotten use to people trying to attack him on that side.

He heard the recruits cry out as they engaged their foes. Arland knew that they had to get down to the camp, the pillar of flame would kill everyone, but before they could do that they needed to deal with these attackers first.

He cut down his opponent, but not before he saw two more of his own men fall.

"Form up," he shouted, "Stay on me!"

Several of the recruits obeyed, they still could not see who they were engaging, but right now that did not matter.

Survive first, ask questions later.

He glanced at the wide eyes recruits; any thought of boredom was gone, now they were fighting for their lives.

Arland's expression was grim.

Well they wanted a bit of action, he thought with a shake of his head.

It is like the old warning said:

 _Careful what you wish for._

 _You just might_ _ **get**_ _it._

 **A/N: It had been a while since I last posted, sorry about that. My mother passed recently and I've been dealing with it the best I could. I find writing helps so don't be surprised to see a lot posts coming. I would rather turn pain into something positive. Hoe you like the chapter, will try to post more soon, until next time dear readers.**

 **DG**


	69. Defense

**A/N: Thanks for the outpouring of support. It is nice to know we have such kind readers. By the way, this chapter contains a bit of fluff, and will be a bit mature. Consider yourselves warned.**

 **DG**

 **Chapter 69: Defense**

Bea did something she was not entirely proud of.

Alistair was understandably curious what had passed between her and Anora during their meeting, once had been assured that she was alright of course. She tried to keep her answers as broad as possible, not wanting to scare him away with the thought that Anora wanted him to marry her.

The scholar frowned.

She was still not entirely sure how he would react to that. Would he assume that what they had been doing had been some plot all along? Would he think that she had only been sharing herself with him out of a desire to sit beside him on a throne?

Her family would have approved of such a move. Father had made no bones about the idea that he saw her as a path to further enrich their family, to place House Glass back on the pedestal they had fallen off years ago because of his older brother's stupidity.

When they had left Orzammar, he had confronted her about her spending the night with the king. He did not look upon her with shame as some father's might for finding that his daughter had spent the night with a man. If anything, he was more than pleased. They had ended their conversation that day with him giving her one piece of advice: Keep the King happy.

She suspected that the deal Anora had offered her would jeopardize that. At the very least it would sow dissent between the two of them. She needed to find a way to dodge, to keep the full measure of the deal to herself.

To that end, she did something she was not entirely proud of.

She had felt the heat in Alistair's kisses and in his embrace. She knew that he wanted more than simple answers from her tonight, and, after all, she had promised him playtime.

She decided to use that promise to her advantage.

She tried to remember everything she had seen girl's do in the noble circles of Orlais; she tried to be both flirty and fun. Alistair responded well to that, especially when her hand found his thigh, and she let her fingers drift slowly upward.

The King's smile grew.

In her head, Bea could still hear her father's words.

Keep the king happy.

That is what she endeavored to do.

She told him that the former queen was willing to bend the knee, provided that several conditions could be met. She also told him that Anora had offered up several allies of hers, allies that were at least willing to discuss shifting their support to the crown if she asked it of them.

All the while Bea continued to rub Alistair's thigh, letting the heat find its way up his body, occasionally her fingers would drift a little higher up, not entirely on purpose, but with a promise of something more to come.

She watched Alistair's eyes closely, it was clear that he was fighting a losing battle, his body and his mind at war. He was curious about her meeting with Anora, but his physical desires were starting to get in the way, he…he was starting to breathe a bit harder, his voice slurred despite only having a few tastes of wine, and his eyes darkening with a passion that, try as he might, were threatening to overwhelm him.

Bea's own heart was starting to beat a little faster, her own body responding to the signals he was sending out. Yet, she could not escape the smallest glimmer of shame for distracting Alistair in this way.

It was not something she did normally. Margaret might, but…

The thought almost made her wince.

Andraste save me, she thought.

I'm turning into Em!

She might have stopped right then, tried to withdrawal and figure things out, but by then it was too late.

Alistair's hands were now moving up her thigh, gently massaging heat into her skin, both that and look in his eyes further fueling her own arousal.

In the end, neither of them wanted to finish the lovely meal that had been prepared for them, and they certainly were no longer interested in talking.

The dam finally broke.

It had been a day filled with tension, for both of them.

It was time to release it.

He pulled her into his arms with a hungry growl, burying his fingers in her dark hair as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She did not resist, in fact if anything, she attacked him with a hunger equal to his own. The restraint and intelligence that usually governed her life were cast aside…

She had come here tonight expecting to lay with him, to calm his fears if little else.

What she had not expected was the surge of lust that now washed over her. She pulled up her gown and wrapped her legs around the king's waist, her hips already moving, questing for him to be a part of her.

He somehow managed to find his feet, even with her gripping him so tightly, he forced her up against one of the four posts of his bed, both of them gasping and clawing at each other.

He did not take off her gown; he tore it off of her. She gasped as he peeled her out of the garment, the tearing sound only exciting her more.

He had managed to get his vest off, but that was not enough, she ripped open his silken shirt, sending buttons flying and exposing his heavily muscled chest.

She groaned as her lips and tongue made their move over his soft clean skin. The king groaned, lost in sweet satisfaction.

Soon they were both undressed and in bed, gasping and clawing at each other. Bea riding her king, as the two of them thrust together, lost in both lust and ecstasy.

Even as Bea surrendered completely to her man's desires, even as she let go of any further restraint and inhibition, still a small part of her mind remained distant, the scholar that usually ruled her life.

Her father's words came back to her.

Keep the king happy. For the love of your family girl, try and keep the king happy.

That small part of her that remained distant recognized those words for what they were.

They were not just good advice; they were a shield, defense.

She loved her family, and now…she finally realized…that she loved Alistair.

This was not just some fling, not for her, and by the Maker she would make sure that it never become such for him.

Her family's fortunes were assured as long as they remained close to the king, and now, all she wanted was to remain close to him, to be his and only his for the rest of her life…

…Such a wonderful and terrifying thought that.

She cried out with pleasure as the king found his first release, the first but not the last, she threw back her head and cried out his name.

Her man, her work, her family, these were the things that mattered to her; this is what she needed to keep and protect.

Lust passed quickly then, the wave of it sloshing gently on the shores, what came in its wake was something more intimate, deeper, darker.

She panted and smiled down at her Alistair, her lord and king.

What came next was desire, she desired this man so much.

They lay down together their bodies pressed tightly against each other, both panting, both getting lost in the other's eyes.

Desire was more than just desire, she thought with a sly hungry smile.

It was the sweetest defense.

IOI

Of course, to the south west of Denerim, in the camp that Bea had set up to study her plants, defense was not so sweet. It was bloody and dangerous.

It was bloody, dangerous, and failing.

Arland Glass was struggling to hold the line, to stop from being overwhelmed and killed with the rest of his men.

The arrows had finally stopped, but now came the battle cry of many armed men.

The king's soldiers readied themselves for combat, even as the camp burned around them, the victim of a magical attack no one had been able to stop. The cries of the desperate and the dying now joined the keening wind.

Arland Glass gripped his sword tightly.

People were counting on him.

On the defense would hold, no matter how many of them fell, no matter if he fell himself…

…it would hold.

IOI

"HOLD YOU GROUND!"

Arland and his men readied themselves trying to form a line of protection between the attackers and the camp. Behind them scholars and servants were rushing around trying to save their work and flee.

The soldier frowned.

He did not like their chances. If his men fell the attackers would wash over the camp, finish off any survivors.

Whoever was behind this could not afford a single survivor; this project had had the king's blessing, by destroying it. They had committed treason.

They could not allow a single witness to escape.

Night had turned to day; the blazing fires of the camp lit the world around them, filling it with a mix of orange and green light.

Not all of the fires had been created naturally, some of them still burned despite the best efforts of the people in the camp trying to douse them. The dark fire that had been unleashed here did not go out as standard flames did.

They continued to burn on, consuming everything they had been sent to consume.

They consumed the tent that held his sister's plants, they consumed Bea's work.

Arland Glass' eyes narrowed.

If he lived through this, his little sister was going to kill him.

The attackers finally charged.

Arland raised his shield.

"HOLD YOUR GROUND" he repeated.

The men charging them wore no sigils, their stock armor and blades gave no clue of which lord they fought for.

He was a bit surprised at the number of attackers, given the arrows that rained down on him, there should have been twice as many. In the blazing light behind them, he thought that could make out some of their attackers forming up around a single mounted figure, a figure in a hood and cloak.

A figure carrying a staff.

Arland Glass growled.

He had found the attackers' mage.

He glanced around, hoping that one of the men had a bow, if they took out the mage they might just scare the bastards into making a mistake, alas, no archers remained, and with the enemy so close…

The attackers hit their weak line and it dissolved into single fights a few broke off and tried to enter the camp, to attack the fleeing scholar, and servants.

Glass drew his dagger and threw it into the back of one of the attackers. The man cried out and fell forward. Arland had no time to see if the man was dead or not, he was set upon by three enemies.

He back pedaled, his defense greatly hobbled by his missing eye.

"Duck!"

The warning was shouted with such command, that Arland had not had any choice but to obey. A battle ax cut at where his head had been. He whirled and cut at the man who wielded it, the warrior back out of his range, but that had not saved him.

One of his fellows drove a dagger into the attacker's back. The man dropped his blade and slumped forward.

An arrow whistled through the air. It struck one of the attackers trying to reach the camp.

Arland's brow furrowed.

What in Andraste's name was going on?!

Why would these bastards turn on each other now?

"Ho there, soldier!" It was the voice that had warned him about the ax, he saw a hooded man with gray beard, a man wielding a longsword.

"Back to back soldier, we will push these bastards back!"

The words were not a request; they were an order shouted by someone used to being in command.

A born leader.

Glass obeyed. The attackers realizing that they had been set upon by their own, tried to fall back and reform, to deal with the traitors in their midst.

An arrow struck one, then two, then three.

The attackers faltered, they raised their shields and started to fall back.

A fireball flew from where the attackers had come; it struck at the feet of Arland and the defenders trying to scatter them.

"Amelia," the old warrior at Arland's back shouted.

"Target the mage!"

Arland never got a chance to see if the mysterious archer would hit her target. The mage, clearly no fool, gestured.

A wall of green flame rose before the mage those guarding it, and the attackers.

Those that had committed themselves to attacking the camp now found themselves pinned between flame and the defenders. The few mages that had been here helping to tend his sister's work now free of threats joined Arland and the soldiers at his side.

Arland was shocked to see that only two of the attackers had turned on their fellows, not counting the archer he could not see. The old man formed up at his side, while the one wielding daggers sheathed those weapons and drew a longsword of his own.

Even in the light of fires behind them Arland could make out the hilt of the weapon, far too fancy for a common sell-sword's, but definitely Ferelden in make.

The man with the daggers was younger with a cruel impish face, red hair, and foxtails lining the shoulders of his cloak.

Something about that struck a chord in Arland's memory but he could not remember exactly what it was.

Not that it mattered right now, they were still under threat.

They needed to deal with the rest of their attackers.

Arland gave the order to charge.

The mage who had accompanied the enemy fled; disappearing behind the wall of flame, between Arland, his remaining men, and the two newcomers and their archer, they struck down the enemy.

Glass had hoped to take one of the men alive for questioning, but the survivor had chosen to run into the wall of green flame that had blocked his escape.

The man wailed as he was consumed, Arland could only look on in shock.

What would prompt a man to do that, to kill himself rather than be captured?

Who scared someone that much that such a death was preferable to interrogation?

Arland's brow furrowed.

They would need to find out.

Now that the battle was over, Arland finally got to look at their rescuers. He was not entirely pleased that he had needed a rescuer, but he was not the type of man to be ungrateful.

Everyone tensed as an archer emerged from the shadows, she held up her bow to show that it wasn't loaded, but she did not drop her weapon.

"She is with us," the older man called out.

"Do not harm her."

The woman removed her hood showing a face without make up, dark haired with pale green eyes. It might have been a pretty face except for the nasty blade scar running down her left cheek.

The woman wore a black flower clasp on her cloak. Again something in Arland's memory stirred.

Foxtails?

Black flowers?

Where had he heard of these before?

The woman and the red haired man formed up beside their leader, the older man removed his hood. The man's hair was thinning, pushed back to a widow's peak, and pepper with gray. His dark beard was equally peppered, but no man in Ferelden would look at the man and see weakness.

The brown eyes that met Arland's were both strong and commanding, the way the man stood, the way he moved, all hinted at someone who had spent their life being obeyed, obeyed and emerging victorious because of it.

Yet now, the older man looked chagrinned.

"My apologies," he said, "I had hoped to stop this attack before it got going, I was not expecting the mage to be here herself."

Arland's eyes narrowed.

"The mage was in command?"

The older man nodded.

"So I heard," the old warrior admitted, "We took out three stragglers and took their place."

The man sighed.

"We were too late again."

"Arland looked over at the ruin of the camp.

Indeed he said grimly.

"Hey," the woman archer growled, "We just saved your asses."

Her eyes narrowed.

"A little thanks would be nice."

The older man silenced her with a raised hand.

"Our first duty is to Ferelden Amelia; that is the oath we swore."

He gave her a commanding look.

"We serve at the king's pleasure, we do not need thanks."

The woman pouted for a moment, but then nodded grimly.

The old man accepted that, and nodded as well.

As far as he was concerned the matter was closed.

Arland's mind whirled, he did not know who these three were, but something…something struck him as familiar.

The old warrior's male companion came to his defense.

"It was not your fault Lionel," he said.

The old man sighed.

"I do not hide from my failure Crispin," he said, "I'm too old for that."

Arland's eyes widened.

Like puzzle pieces, hearing the names of the three finally brought the full picture into view.

He looked upon the man with disbelief.

"Lionel Couldry," he said with no small amount of awe.

The old man smiled slightly and nodded.

Arland swallowed hard.

"You are Ser Lionel Couldry," he repeated,

Several of the other soldiers whispered with awe.

Lionel Couldry.

He had fought beside King Maric and Teryn Loghain during the last days of the rebellion. He had seconded for Maric when he had slain the usurper Meghren during their duel in Fort Drakon. He had been the first man inducted into the king's bodyguard after that victory, and had served as commander during the reign of good King Cailan.

But, that did not make any sense, Arland Glass thought.

Couldry had died with the king in Ostagar, or so the stories claimed.

Yet, here he was.

And if this was Ser Lionel, then he knew who the other two were as well.

He turned to the red haired man.

"You're Ser Crispin Fox. You're Ser Crispin the Clever."

The man smirked.

"Never really liked that nickname, but at least it earns me a drink or two."

He turned to the woman.

"You're Ser Amelia Thorne. You are the Black Rose."

The girl sniffed.

She had been only recently inducted into the king's bodyguard before the Blight, but the tale of her victory over the Black Tower mercenary company had been well known.

He looked at the three with new eyes.

These were not just warriors. He now stood before legends.

He shook his head.

"We heard you were all dead."

"Close," Amelia Thorne admitted, "But not close enough."

"We were sent away from Ostagar," Ser Crispin added, "It is a bit of a story that."

"There will be time for that later," their leader said.

Both Thorne and Fox fell silent.

Ser Lionel approached Arland.

"Are you the Commander here?"

Arland looked around realizing he probably was now, they had had an officer, but no one had seen him since the fighting started.

He nodded.

Ser Lionel nodded and sank to one knee.

"As the officer in charge, we now submit ourselves to your custody ser."

The other two guards did the same.

"I am Ser Lionel Couldry, Captain of the King's Body guard, protector of his honor, and defender of his realm."

The man looked up at Arland.

"We have returned to defend our homeland."

"We have come home."


	70. Profit and Loss

**Chapter 70: Profit and Loss**

Word of the attack in the blightlands spread like wildfire.

No sooner had the news reached the capital, many hushed and secret meetings occurred. The king's allies met to discuss what had happened, while the king's enemies tried to figure out which of their number was behind it.

Word of the attack and the apparent return of Ser Lionel Couldry and his fellows shook the nobles of Denerim to their core. Teyrn Loghain had insisted that Couldry had died with the rest for the king's bodyguards. Of the six men and one woman who had protected Cailan, five had accompanied him to Ostagar and never returned. The two guards that had remained in the capital to protect Queen Anora had perished under suspicion of treason; a charge brought by Rendon Howe, with their death had perished the last part of Maric and Cailan's regime.

Now, with Ser Lionel's return…

…the nobles were not sure what this all meant.

Whatever was to come, the news shook the capital, and it had only just arrived.

What would come of it would be revealed in time.

IOI

Arl Glass was furious when he heard the news. His daughters work had been destroyed; those that she had trusted to watch over it had been murdered. Had the Arl of Denerim discovered the culprits it would have been highly unlikely that any of them would have made it to a magistrate to stand trial.

The nobleman likely would have had them executed on sight.

The king was equally troubled by these events, not just for the loss that they represented, but for the feelings of his lover as well. Bea had been horrified when she had heard the news, all her hard work…gone.

The king assembled his entourage to journey down to the site of the battle; he wished to see it for himself. He also needed confer with Arland Glass on what had happened.

Chancellor Eamon remained in the capital to oversee Denerim while Alistair made his way south. Both Arl Glass and Arl Teagan accompanied him. The Chancellor's brother had been in the capital making a report when the news came, and since any response would likely come later from Redcliffe Castle, he felt it was in his best interest to see to the matter personally.

Bea also went, protected by Lis Cousland, and accompanied by Wilbur Rich. The secretary anticipated that the king might have need of his services should the soldiers of turned up any evidence of who was behind the attack. Word would have to be sent quickly, to ensure that the appropriate punishment was delivered to the right people. Plus, as one of the Lady Bea's most important supporters, the secretary felt it necessary to be at her side, to see what they had lost in the attack.

She needed to see what had happened

She had to.

The restoration of Ferelden, which was the end goal of her experiments, had become a major part of her life's work.

She had to know if it could be salvaged.

IOI

"Perhaps it is not as bad as we heard," the lady suggested, trying to sound hopeful, "My plants were quite hearty, perhaps some of them survived."

Neither Lis nor Rich replied. They were both pragmatists. They would not offer up false hope if there was none.

Their reaction nearly silenced her.

"We can hope at least," she said sheepishly.

She knew how pathetic her words sounded even as she spoke them, but clinging to even false hope was better than giving into despair.

She had had such high hopes for what those plants could accomplish, if they had made the land fertile again…

She sighed and shook her head.

It likely did not matter now, if they had been destroyed, she would need to start over from scratch. It would be slow work, She would have to plant knew seedlings, hope that they would reach the maturity they needed to continue her work, it was possible, but it would take time.

Time she feared that she no longer had.

Whoever was behind this would only be emboldened further by their success, and those who opposed her on the royal court would no doubt use this as proof positive that she had no value to Ferelden or the king.

The scholar frowned.

Mother Allison was no doubt enjoying the news, and what it meant.

Bea's position at court had just become…less secure.

Alistair tried his best to comfort her, not that he was having much success. He promised that they would find out who was responsible, that they would see justice done.

She smiled weakly, but she knew what the loss of her work represented, her father had taught her well when it came to politics.

Weakness was never ignored.

She was now vulnerable, and through her House Glass.

Father would not be pleased.

IOI

It took several days to reach the site; by the time they had arrived the survivors had managed to scavenge what they could and set up a secondary camp. The surviving soldiers reinforced by a local garrison did what they could to see to needs of the wounded, those that had been most gravely wounded had already been moved to the nearest village, under the care of healers and one of the mages that had been helping with the experiment.

As for the tents that had shielded Bea's work nothing remained, of the plants inside only burnt husks remained. Arland Glass, who had assumed command since the attack kneeled as the king approached. He was flanked by Arls Teagan and Nathaniel Glass.

Glass looked down on his eldest son, his eyes dark with anger.

"What in Andraste's name happened," the man growled before Alistair could say anything.

"How could you let this happen?!"

Arland did not wince or turn away from his father's anger.

He glared up at him.

"I'm fine father," he said, "thank you for asking."

The Arl was about to respond angrily, but was stopped by the king's raised hand.

"I'm sure your son did all that he could, Your Grace," Alistair said, not wishing to see the two fight in front of…well…everyone.

He gestured for the soldier to rise; Alistair did not like hearing reports from people kneeling. He knew the dangers of a soldier's life. He would not condemn Arland Glass for surviving what had happened.

Bea trailed behind them, looking as heartsick as Alistair had ever seen her, he wanted to go to her, comfort her, but his duties took precedence, as king he was expected to take charge in such situations.

He hoped that she understood that, hopefully Lis could help.

Rich looked upon the seen with a mix of anger and distaste. The secretary clutched his ever present ledger to his chest, perhaps he took comfort in knowing what he could do with Alistair's orders and a stroke of a pen.

Arl Glass' son gave his report, the strange glyph, the hail of arrows, and the unmarked warriors that had assaulted the camp in the wake of both.

None of the attackers had survived, and the one prisoner that they could have taken killed himself rather than be taken into custody. Alistair inspected some of the weapons that had been taken off the dead, they were unmarked, and could have been purchased from any weapon smith in Ferelden; they would not find the culprit of this attack through them.

It was then that Alistair turned to the three king's guards that had returned during the attack. He knew some of their story through the letter that Arland had dispatched to Denerim.

As he approached the three guards stood at attention. Ser Lionel stood in the middle of them, his features a bit more rough than what Alistair remembered.

The king smiled slightly.

He had met Ser Lionel once. He had been standing beside Duncan at the time; King Cailan had just arrived at Ostagar, accompanied by Loghain and five of the king's bodyguard. He had not spoken to the old man then, but he had heard the name, and now as they met again, he recognized the man's face.

Alistair tried not to look nervous.

Ser Lionel was a legend; it was hard not to feel unworthy.

"Ser Lionel, Ser Crispin, Ser Amelia," Arland Glass called out to them.

"His Majesty, the King," he said gesturing to Alistair.

The three guards dropped to one knee.

"Your Majesty," they said as one.

Alistair gestured for them to rise, which they did.

Ser Lionel gave him a warm smile.

"It is good to see you again, Your Majesty," the captain of the king's guard proclaimed.

Alistair swallowed hard.

"You…you remember me, Ser Lionel?"

The older man chuckled.

"The last time we met you were standing at the side of Warden Commander Duncan."

Amusement twinkled in the man's eyes.

"Such a meeting is not easily forgotten."

Alistair hoped that he wasn't blushing.

It was not every day that someone was acknowledged by one's heroes, and make no mistake, Lionel Couldry was a hero.

Teagan shook Ser Lionel's hand, as brother to Queen Rowan; the two had known each other longer than most of those assembled here. Teagan also acknowledged Ser Crispin and Ser Amelia, though it was clear that he did not know them as well as he did their leader.

"It is good to see that you all still live," the Arl of Redcliffe said, "though how you survived Ostagar is still a mystery."

"It is not as much a mystery as one might think," Ser Crispin said.

"Good King Cailan dispatched us to Orlais after the second battle of Ostagar," Ser Lionel added.

"We were supposed to see the wardens of Orlais safely over the border," Ser Amelia said.

"As you can guess," Crispin said shaking his head.

"That did not happen."

Alistair gave Ser Lionel a questioning look.

The guard captain sighed.

"We never reached the wardens," he said, "Word of Loghain's betrayal reached the empire before we could."

"After that Loghain sealed the border, as we all know," Crispin said, "all Orlesian aid was turned back."

"Why did you not return to the palace?" Teagan asked, "Why stay hidden for so long?"

"We had no choice," Ser Crispin murmured.

"Some of the empress' nobles took that refusal personally," Amelia said shaking her head. "They figured our survival was proof that we had conspired with Loghain, and sought to kill us before we could either reach the empress or return home."

Ser Lionel frowned deeply.

"We have spent the last two years dodging bounty hunters and the agents of Orlesian nobles. Had we surrendered they either would have killed us or ransomed us back to Ferelden, we could not allow that, we would not embarrass Ferelden by being sold back like common spies."

"Crispin got injured," Amelia added, "Ser Lionel would not leave him. We had to wait until he was strong enough to travel again."

"We ended up having to travel north; we managed to reach the Nevarran boarder, from there. We were finally able to take ship and return to home. One of those travelling with us was a mercenary, he did not know who we were, and it was from him that we heard about a mage looking to hire people to attack the holdings of the king."

"It was that," Ser Lionel said, "that brought us to where we are now."

Alistair shrugged, the story did not sound like a lie, still…still…

"Why did you not return to Denerim?" he asked.

The three guards looked at each other. All three looked tired and more than a little ashamed.

"We were not sure what kind of reaction we would get in the capital," Ser Amelia said, "Most nobles would likely accuse us of desertion at best, treason at worse."

"We never betrayed our king," Ser Crispin growled.

Amelia put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him.

Ser Lionel's expression was grim.

"We were not there to defend our king," he said, "We _failed_ him, he died, and our brother guardsmen with him."

"We wondered…perhaps it was better that we had died as well."

Alistair pursed his lips. He knew what these people were feeling; he had felt it as well, after Ostagar, after Duncan and all his brothers had…

He found himself thinking of Kallian. She had been with him during his darkest moments, she could have abandoned him, and went back to Denerim, yet she stayed, stayed and fought...

She had said something to him that day, something that had given him hope, words that he now repeated.

He went up to Couldry, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You have failed no one," he said, "You still draw breath, and you still have people that need you."

He smiled slightly.

"Your king still has need of you."

Hearing those words seemed to have an immediate effect on the three; something went through them, hardening their resolve again.

Ser Lionel stood a little straighter.

"We all swore and oath to House Theirin," he said, "To fight and die in its service if needed. We hold to that oath, if…if you are willing to take us back, Your Majesty?"

Alistair chuckled.

How could he say no?

"I'm willing," he said.

All three guards dropped to one knee, while Teagan recited the oath of the king's protectors.

Alistair had never heard it in its entirety before, but he could see why Ser Lionel and his fellows held it in such regard.

 _Do you swear to keep the king's confidence?_

 _Do you swear to protect, counsel, and fight for both him and his heirs?_

 _Do you swear by your blood and honor to give your lives for your king and your country?_

All three accepted this oath, without question.

Again Alistair felt a surge of unworthiness.

All this for him?

He doubted he would ever feel worthy of it.

"We live to serve, Your Majesty' Couldry informed him.

Alistair coughed, not sure what to say.

He spotted Bea approaching with Lis and Wilbur Rich at her side.

He motioned for his new guard to rise.

"Bea," he murmured as she came to his side.

He took her hands in his.

She had tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

"It is gone," she said miserably.

"The destroyed it all."

"Your Majesty?" Ser Lionel asked regarding her.

He guided Bea forward.

"Ser Lionel," he said, "This is the Lady Bridget Glass, she is the daughter of the Arl of Denerim, and my…um…"

Bea blushed slightly at Alistair's pause.

"I am the king's…companion," she said.

Companion…it was the best word that she could think of.

Lionel again dropped to one knee.

"It is pleasure to meet you princess' he said.

Bea blinked.

"Princess?" she asked.

Couldry glanced up at her.

"You are both noble born and our king's companion?"

"His only companion?" Ser Crispin asked.

Bea blushed, recognizing what the man was being so polite about. Alistair nodded yes.

Couldry smiled slightly.

"That makes you our princess, and now under our protection."

He turned to Ser Amelia.

"We will need to rebuild the guard, but for now, you are assigned to protect the princess, Amelia. This attack was targeted at her as much as it was our king."

Ser Amelia Thorne regarded the scholar.

"I am at your service, Milady," she said crossing her hands over her chest.

Alistair smiled at her response.

It was rare that Bea was left speechless.

He shook his head as he looked out over the destruction.

They had lost this day, no one would doubt that, but they had profited to.

Ser Lionel and his fellows had returned; Eamon would be happy to have the old soldier back in service.

They would still need to find the mage who did this, whoever she was.

Alistair frowned.

Whatever happened, he feared this was only the beginning.

The threat was no longer just a shadow, it was real…

…and now it was active.


	71. Royal Pains

**Chapter 71: Royal Pains**

Alistair's first meeting with the royal court after his return from the Blighted lands was much…louder than he had expected. He had returned to find that everyone in the court had a theory of what had happened, and they were all willing to blame someone else for the attack.

He had hoped for a little unity among his subjects, that all would realize what had been lost and work together to learn the truth, what he found was anything but…

The nobles blamed the freeholders. The freeholders blamed the Dalish living in the south. Merchants blamed both the landowners, claiming that they were frightened that Lady Bea's experiments would work and that they were afraid of progress.

All three claims ended in massive shouting matches. Shianni, though no Dalish herself, took up the cause of her fellow elves, at one point Alistair had feared the Bann of the Alienage would challenge one of the landowners to a duel, which win or lose would have ended badly for all of Ferelden.

It was only then that the chantry let its voice be heard, represented by one who had little love for Bea or her work.

Mother Allison addressed the court, in her opinion, the Lady Glass had made many false promises, if prayer and magic could not heal the Blighted lands what chance did her "garden" have.

The mother smiled slightly at her own comment.

She suggested that this attack, whoever was responsible, was likely the will of the Maker.

That comment angered Arl Nathaniel.

"It was not the Maker that destroyed my daughter's holdings, Your Reverence," he reminded her, "It was an armed group of ruffians led by a mage."

At the mention of a mage the conversations turned to nervous whispers, for centuries the chantry had did its best to make people leery of magic, to find out that a mage was willing to attack the holdings of the king, such an attack set a dangerous precedence.

It only fanned the flames that were growing.

It was then that Bann Lorelei of Amaranthine entered the fray, the pretty young noble smiled demurely; she had become popular with many of the nobles in the city, and was considered by most a friend to all. Even with the damage sustained to her own holdings during the recent darkspawn civil war, Lorelei remained open to helping her neighbors. She was not one to speak openly at court, so now that she asked to be recognized, everyone deemed it wise to listen.

She had had little to say about recent events…until now.

"Perhaps there are those in the chantry who wish to see the Lady Glass fail," she suggested, "Perhaps they sent a circle mage to make sure that that occurred."

That one little comment ignited a firestorm.

The girl looked around with surprise; most would say that she seemed confused by the chaos her comment had caused.

It only reinforced the idea of some that she was a bit too naïve for life at court.

Alistair slumped back in his throne, while Chancellor Eamon tried to regain control of the chaos that now filled the chamber. Not that he expected much considering all the hostile feelings in the chamber today.

Mother Allison and Arl Glass were now snarling at each other. While Lis Cousland was doing her best to keep Shianni restrained, to make sure she did not leap on the next noble or free holder that suggested the elves were involved in the attack.

It would not do to have the Bann of Alienage ripping out the eyes of some bigoted noble, no matter how justified she felt.

The King looked at his secretary; Wilbur Rich shrugged, having no advice to give here. Lady Bea's work had always been a divisive issue at court, everyone knew it, and it was no surprise that its destruction had set off more than a few fires.

Privately, Rich had promised to have his agents look into what had happened. He had people examining the dead bodies of the attackers trying to find some kind of evidence that might reveal who had sent them, and perhaps at the same time learn the identity of the mage behind the attack.

He could have made his own suggestion to the court, try to calm things down, but quite frankly, he had no idea what to say to any of them. Investigations took both time and patience, and he knew that most of the nobles here did not respect the former, and possessed none of the latter.

Eamon tried to restore order, shouting to be heard over the din.

Alistair put his hands to his lips in thought.

He glanced over to where Bea usually sat, he had gotten used to her presence, but with the destruction of her work, the scholar had retreated into seclusion of her lab, trying to find a way to get her experiment back on track, despite the destruction that it had endured.

The king frowned slightly and sighed.

He hated seeing Bea so heartsick. She had had such high hopes for what she was doing, by the spring she had hoped to have been able to show the nobles that her plants had made it possible to grow crops on the land that she had cleansed…

…Now it was likely that they would have to wait another year. That she would have to try again later.

She had confided in him that she feared that she would not get another chance.

Whoever was behind this would no doubt try again, they had tasted victory, and it was likely that they would not stop there. She had requested the guard doubled on her tower lab, just in case. She might have asked for a Templar or two as well, but she did not quite trust Mother Allison, if she had had anything to do with the attack going to the chantry for aid might lead to the destruction of the rest of her work.

Bea had looked so sad, she said she felt confined, like the walls were closing in, Alistair did what he could to try and comfort her, but she had rebuffed all but the most gentle of caresses.

She needed to work, she informed him. She needed space to come up with a new plan.

He had granted her that space, but promised her that he was there if she needed him.

She had smiled sweetly at that, and had kissed him lightly on the nose.

"Thank you," she cooed.

The simple act of affection had made him feel so much better. Her smile emboldened him, otherwise he would not have been able to stand and listen as the court bickered like children.

Her smile was enough.

"That is what I'm here for," he said grinning, "Protecting the honor of my most favored and delivering clever one-liners, it is a sacrifice, I now, but I try to be brave."

Bea had chuckled and kissed him again.

He had not cheered her up, but at least he had made a dent in her melancholy.

It would have to be enough for now.

IOI

Order was restored…eventually, the king called a recess so that everyone could get control of their emotions.

After that, he made his way to the small office off of the throne room, where he would discuss matters with his councilors. The Chancellor, Secretary Rich, and Guard Captain Couldry accompanied him. The last entry was a bit of a surprise, but Eamon informed him that it was expected. The Captain of the Royal Guard traditionally advised the king on military matters, or matters that had involved the military

Alistair was grateful for the old man's presence; he remembered their first meeting back in Ostagar. The old warrior had kept Cailan's zeal at bay, while at the same time allowing him and Loghain to agree on a plan.

That first battle of Ostagar had been successful, if only the final one had been as well.

Alistair sighed as he removed the crown, it felt heavier today. He sat down and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher. Seeing the grim expressions on the faces of his advisors he tried to lighten the mood.

"Well," he said jovially, "That was fun, who wants to go again?"

Eamon gave him that disapproving frown that Alistair remembered so well from childhood. Rich's face remained bland, but Alistair thought he saw Ser Lionel smile ever so slightly under his silver helmet.

It helped quail some of his reaction to Eamon's look.

The king sighed again, so much for lightening the mood.

"Soooo," he said leaning back in his chair, "Where do we stand?"

"We will need to find the culprits of this attack quickly," the Chancellor advised, "It cannot be allowed to go unpunished."

"Speed is important, Your Grace," Rich said smiling at him, "But we must be accurate as well, it would not do to execute the wrong party simply to calm the nobles."

Eamon shook his head.

I find it hard to believe that any of our nobles would be behind such an attack, especially after everything that happened during the Blight."

"The nobles have their own agendas," Rich reminded him, "And now that the Blight is several years past, some might think it prudent to look to their own needs again."

Rich's smile widened.

"After all, not all of Loghain's allies were silenced after his defeat."

Eamon frowned at the secretary; the chancellor had spent many months trying to reach out to any of the nobles who had had issue with Alistair taking the throne. It angered him to think that they would toss away all that he had offered.

"Could the attack of come from the outside?" Alistair inquired, "I'm not pointing the finger at Orlais, merely asking the question."

"It is not the Orlesians' style, Your Majesty," Ser Lionel answered him, "They no doubt knew about the Princess' work, but I don't think that they would have destroyed it so…bluntly."

"What do you mean captain?" Eamon asked.

Ser Lionel sighed.

"I spent a lot of time on the run in Orlais, had a lot of time to study the tactics of its lords. If they wanted to destroy Lady Bridget's work, they would have waited until it bore fruit, especially if it is as valuable as she claims it will be."

The old warrior pursed his lips.

"They would have been more subtle, they would have destroyed the plants, yes, but they would have made sure that one of their agents made off with one first. So that Orlais could profit from what had done."

Ser Lionel shook his head.

"The men that attacked the Lady's camp were only interested in destruction; it does not sound like something the Orlesians would plan, too sloppy."

Rich crossed his arms over his chest.

"You never have to look far to find enemies," he said.

"Often they are standing at your side, with a smile on their face and a dagger behind their back," Couldry added.

Alistair blinked and regarded both men.

He did not recognize the quote.

"Something that your father said during the rebellion, Your Majesty," Ser Lionel informed him.

"I have heard that Loghain MacTir said it first, Ser Lionel," Rich added, "He maybe reviled now, but his wisdom should not be totally dismissed."

Alistair nodded. He did not like the idea that someone on his own court would be so bold. He also suspected that Bea was right; victory here would only embolden his enemies.

"Do any of you have any theories about who is behind this," he asked, "It might give us a place to start?"

The three men glanced at each other, it was clear that none wanted to point any fingers, not without cause.

"I'm just looking for suggestions," he said, "You have all been at court much longer than I, who do you think has the most to gain?"

Eamon answered first.

"I don't like the thought of accusing someone in the chantry," he said, "But Mother Allison has always been critical of Lady Glass' work. If she did not handle the matter herself some of her admirers might have. She has many in the capital."

"And she seemed more than pleased when she heard of Lady Glass' misfortune," Rich added, "It may be worth a closer look."

Eamon glared at him.

"I was not accusing her."

"Nor was I," Rich said coldly, "The king has asked for suggestions, and yours has merit, I was merely saying we may wish to take a closer look in the future."

The Chancellor nodded, mollified for now.

Alistair glanced at the secretary.

"When we first met your Majesty," he began, "I spoke to you a bit about a conspiracy I believe was forming among the nobles. Many MacTir loyalists have died since that time, many at the hands of Warden Commander Caron in Amaranthine. The survivors may have decided to switch tactics or they have found a new leader now that Anora MacTir seems at least…open to your rule."

Alistair arched an eyebrow.

"You have suspect?"

"Merely an observation, Your Majesty, I don't like the idea of pointing any fingers without proof, but there is one noble who has been…isolating himself of late. He has not been attending court, and his excuses are starting to cause more than a few to ask questions."

"Which noble might that be, Mister Secretary," the Chancellor asked.

Rich smiled slightly.

"Fergus Cousland."

"Impossible," Ser Lionel Couldry spat, "The Couslands are the most loyal family in the realm."

"Bryce Cousland was," Rich agreed, "But his son has suffered major losses in his personal life, and has been behaving in a way that does not suggest either trust or loyalty to the crown."

"I thought that Teyrn Cousland was an ally of House Glass, he seemed intrigued by Lady Glass' work, his own sister is a guest in their house."

"A sister that he blames for the loss of their family," Rich added, "His parents, his wife, and his heir were all lost, and now he struggles to rebuild Highever almost by himself, he has asked for no aid, and has done very well…"

Rich shook his head.

"After we lost King Maric, there were those that felt that Bryce Cousland should have been king. Cailan though twenty-five was untested, and the Teyrn of Highever was far more respected. He refused, but many of his supporters remained, they transferred their loyalty to Loghain during the Blight, but now…with Fergus slowly rebuilding on his own…to some he might make a much more suitable candidate for the throne."

Ser Lionel shook his head.

"No matter the loss, I find it hard to believe that Fergus would ever think of opposing the crown."

Rich smiled at the knight.

"The king asked for a suggestion; that is what I have given him, nothing more."

"I don't see Fergus doing what you suggested," Eamon added, "He would not target House Glass. I have it on good authority that Arl Glass was, even before this attack, trying to negotiate a marriage deal between Teyrn Cousland and his eldest daughter Margaret."

"I have heard this as well," Rich said, "Though I've also heard that the Teyrn has sent little response. Perhaps the marriage does not appeal to him. Either way, it is clear that the Arl of Denerim is clearly interested in advancing his family's interests far beyond Denerim and his trade deals with Orlais."

Alistair frowned, not sure what to make of what he was hearing. He knew of Arl Glass' ambitions, Bea had made sure that he knew about them even before they had begun spending time together.

The king turned to Ser Couldry.

"Any thoughts guard captain?"

Ser Lionel frowned, even wearing a helmet, it was clear that the man was deep in thought.

"I fear that I am too new to the court to make any intelligent judgment, Your Majesty. Many of the friends and rivals I knew of perished during the Blight and the civil war that started because of it. My gut tells me that whoever did this is close by. Perhaps they were even at court today. I said this attack was sloppy, but that may have been the whole point."

The man removed his helmet, and ran his hand through his graying hair.

"You have enemies; that is not in doubt. One has finally decided to move, we can investigate try to learn the identity of this person, but that is all we can do; it is the only move available to us.

"The next move is our enemy's If they push their advantage, make another attempt, it may reveal more about who we are dealing with, if they go dormant, we may have to wait for the next opportunity."

Alistair hissed with frustration.

"I don't like waiting, sitting around waiting for the next boot to fall."

Ser Lionel chuckled.

"Your father did not like sitting around either, it was pain he knew he had to endure."

Alistair snorted.

"It was a pain, he thought, a royal pain.

He did not like it. Whoever was behind this had targeted Bea's work, next time they might try something closer to home.

He was worried about her, his smart beautiful scholar.

He wished that there was something more that he could do, but he couldn't.

Ser Couldry was right.

The next move was the enemy's.

All they could do now…was wait.


	72. The Scholar and the Captain

**Chapter 72: The Scholar and the Captain**

"I'm sure that you will be able to come back from this Sweetheart, you should not trouble yourself overmuch."

Arl Nathaniel Glass smiled at his youngest child.

"This is a minor setback," he added, "Nothing more."

Bea resisted the urge to roll her eyes and say one of several angry or hurtful comments. Her father's response once again showed just how limited his knowledge of her work truly was. The plants that had been destroyed in the Hinterlands had been some of her finest stock, irreplaceable! Some of those plants had taken over a year of hard work to bring into being, the stock they had been sired by died shortly after giving up much needed seeds…

It was a great loss for her work and an even worse loss when one needed results.

She had hoped to have results to show the lords by the spring, now it was likely she would have to wait another year before her work truly bore fruit, provided anyone was willing to let her try again. Alistair would, she did not doubt that, but the lords and ladies who did not support her had even more ammunition against her, they would be more than enough to get people to question her, and question if she even deserved to have Alistair's continued patronage.

Talia, her tranquil assistant presented her with their latest success. She said nothing about the burns on her face and hands. Bea was grateful that the girl had survived the attack. Talia knew her work inside and out, and it would have been difficult to train a new assistant to the level that the former mage had attained.

Bea smiled slightly and thanked the girl. The Tranquil only nodded in acceptance. She might not have been able to feel anything, but she would have been missed had she fallen.

Despite everything, the scholar had grown fond of the girl.

She pursed her lips as she inspected the latest generation that she had been testing here in her tower, it showed promise, but not to the degree of that which had been destroyed in the craven attack.

Damn," she thought angrily.

 _It will take me months to recreate what was lost,_ _ **months**_ _, if not_ _ **years…**_

She turned away from the little plant in anger, a wave of nausea washed over her. She had been sick to her stomach on and off since the destruction of her work, stress most likely. The realization that she would have to start all over again did not fill her with joy.

Once she would have welcomed the challenge, but now…she feared what the loss would do to her dreams as a whole. As a simple scholar all she only had to worry about was the opinions of the rival academics, her relationship with the king had taken those worries to a new level. Alistair's enemies were now here enemies; they would gladly see her work fail just to spite the king. She should have kept her distance, or did her best to keep what she shared with the king secret, but by agreeing to speak with the former queen Anora, she had brought down even more pain upon them.

The mere thought made her almost shiver.

Part of her was left wondering how much of this attack had been her fault, had word of her meeting with Anora gotten out? Was this attack a response to it by the enemies she had made at court?

 _Of course not,_ her conscience chided _, the attack was too soon after the meeting, no one could have gotten word out about what Anora had offered her_ _ **that**_ _fast. This attack had likely been planned for quite some time. Do not start getting paranoid._

She frowned at the thought.

 _Such paranoia would likely become more common the longer she remained in the capital._

She tried to push such thoughts aside. She could do nothing to save what she had lost that day, all she could do now was try and recover, and try to rebuild her life's work.

Of course, she could no longer do so blithely, the destruction in the Hinterlands proved how far her enemies were willing to go; she found that she now feared for the safety of her research, even here in her private tower, even here in the palace.

Fortunately, she was no longer alone in protecting her work, father had offered her protection of his own men, but that was not all.

The Royal Guard had offered her their services as well.

Ser Lionel had recognized the value of her work, or at the very least the king's affection towards her, she was never without one of the three guards standing watch outside. While on duty they said nothing to her, remaining ever watchful for her protection, but all three had visited her while they were not working.

She smiled slightly at that.

The attention of such brave people was welcome, especially knowing that their marshal skills were now directed at protecting her and her interests.

Ser Lionel had been curious about her personally, no doubt wishing to gauge the woman that was now sharing the king's bed on occasion. Crispin the Clever was quite curious about her work, particularly the more lethal aspects of the plants she created the poisons that sprang from the tainted leaves and thorns.

 _Never can have too many work tools_ , the guardsman had said jovially.

Amelia Thorne and she had spoken more socially. They were close to the same age after all, and both took what they did very seriously. The Black Rose was one of only three women who had ever sworn the oath of the royal guard, and saw that duty as almost holy writ.

Unlike Ser Lionel and Ser Crispin, Ser Amelia understood, she knew what it was like to be a woman in a position of power, a position often coveted by others, who believed that a woman could never perform such tasks as well as a man could.

The Black Rose understood, which made her a great ally in what Bea was trying to accomplish.

She feared that she would soon need all the allies that she could get.

The destruction of her work had set off shockwaves through the court, alliances shifted, shattered and reformed as everyone tried to make sense of what had happened. Chancellor Eamon, who had once been one of her father's staunchest allies, was now shifting his position slowly away from House Glass and their continued prosperity. The loss of the Chancellor's patronage had caused her father to now lean heavily on Bea and the few friends and allies she had made at court. The Circle remained supportive, but the chantry and Templars were now coming down hard upon them, the fact that a mage had led the attack against the camp in the Hinterlands had made the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric question the mages commitment to the throne.

The attacker had likely been an apostate, but that mattered little in the eyes of the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander, all they saw was a mage, and since the Templars had had little luck in in locating the mysterious mage, they came down even harder on those they could reach.

If that was not enough, her ties to House Cousland had weakened as well. Following the return of Ser Lionel and his fellows, Lis had submitted herself before the captain, asking that she be made part of the royal guard. She had even gone so far as to swear that she would renounce her place as a member of House Cousland, if Ser Lionel would only grant her that honor.

The old man had heard her request, considered it, and in the end _rejected_ it. Not because he doubted her skill or her commitment, but because he recognized what dire straight that House Cousland now found itself.

"I will not be a part of the collapse of one of Ferelden's greatest houses," Ser Lionel had said, "Before you pledge yourself to the guard, you should at least try to do your duty to your family. You should commit yourself to finding a husband and having heirs and doing your part to undo the harm that Rendon Howe caused.

Lis had been clearly furious at the old man's choice, but out of respect for him, and his station, she had left without a single angry word. Though she did now choose to keep her distance from Bea, not wishing to confront any of the royal guards that now shielded her scholarly friend.

That loss hurt Bea deeply. She had come to depend on Lis' solid, presence, her frank words were a nice change from so many at court who seemed to live only to flatter and deceive.

She understood her friend's pain, but she prayed that she would soon learn to let it go.

Bea had few true friends here in the capital; she had no desire to lose one of her best.

"Milady, your father," Talia said pointing.

Bea looked up, to find her father standing close to one of the many plants they had been working on; one of the vines had managed to become curled around his arm.

Her eyes widened.

"Papa," she said urgently, "Do not move."

The Arl blinked, he finally noticed that the slight swaying of his arm had caused it to become tangled.

He started to pull away.

"Stop," Bea said sharply.

Her father looked at her with confusion.

"Sweetheart I…"

"Don't. Move."

Her last word was a command, not a request, Arl Nathaniel froze while his daughter went to her work desk and retrieved the metal gauntlets she used when working with the more thorny plants, such a plant was now idly wrapped around her father's arm.

She slipped on the gloves and went to his side; she continued to whisper for him not to move as she slowly and carefully untangled the vine. Father had likely not felt the knobby thorns through his shirt, but had he been scratched or pricked, things might have been disastrous.

"Now," She whispered as she slid the vine back away from him, "Move away carefully."

He did as she bade, though he looked more confused than afraid.

Once he was out of the way, safe, the scholar sighed.

She went over and checked his arm, just to make sure he had not been cut in anyway.

"That particular plant produces a very toxic poison in its thorns," she informed him. Had you been cut you would have suffered greatly, probably would have died in a day or two had I not noticed.

Her father's eyes widened.

"Makers breath daughter," he gasped, "This place is a tower of horrors!"

She gave him a wry look.

People were often shocked to find out that some plants were as dangerous as the most predatory of animals. They did not understand that plants fought for their place in the world as hard as any animal did or could. Most only saw flora as a great green landscape, they did not see the war going on around them.

Still she did her best to assure her father.

"The only horror here is to those who are unenlightened and not careful, purifying the soil of the darkspawn taint requires risk, but if it is successful, plants such as the one you almost ran afoul of will hopefully restore what the darkspawn took from us."

Still Arl Nathaniel looked worried.

"Be careful Sweetheart, much rests on your shoulders now, especially with Eamon's growing coldness towards me."

"I understand," she said with a sigh, the very thought of this made her stomach twinge; she would ask Talia to find her some ginger root, that worked very well to help with a sour stomach.

She waited until he left, before turning to the next plant that needed to be inspected. She ran her gauntleted fingers over the leaves checking for any sign of corruption, she had had to destroy two plants the other day because they had died in the tainted soil, but not before turning into a dead stalk thick with poison.

She stepped away, suddenly feeling a little light headed, the air in here, with all the plants could make a person feel a little off, she decided to get out of the tower for a while, clear her mind, and try to come up with a new plan of attack. She still thought that they might be able to find a secondary test site before the snow fell.

She would need to consult her maps and books.

She was met at the door by Ser Lionel, the old man nodded as she exited, and fell in step at her side, for her protection of course.

"I offered to relieve Amelia," he said, the king is staying in his rooms today doing paperwork, Ser Crispin will be enough should the need arise."

Bea chuckled.

"No desire to stand by while the king signs and stamps documents?"

The old man smiled

"Security is tighter around the king's private rooms. It frees the guard up to tend to the business of rebuilding our brotherhood."

Bea nodded.

"Do you have any candidates?" she asked.

"A few," he said, "Your friend Lady Lis would have been among them in better times, but I cannot accept her among us, not when House Cousland is so desperately in need of heirs."

The man shook his head.

"I will not poach from a noble house in such a state."

Bea pursed her lips as she considered his words.

"She still is not happy," she reminded the captain.

"I know," he said, "But my decision still stands."

He escorted her down the hall, several passing nobles and servants twittered as they passed, seeing the captain at bodyguard duty was a curious sight to be sure.

Though she could not see much of Ser Lionel's face with his helmet on, it was clear that his expression was…thoughtful at best.

"Is serving the king what you expected?" she inquired, "I can't imagine that serving King Cailan was the same as serving his brother."

Lionel sighed.

"He is my king; my oath is to serve him. King Cailan, Andraste bless him, was more polished, but he was far less prudent then our current king. His Majesty is…more _concerned_ with the rule of his people than King Cailan was. Rule often bored Cailan, and he would look for any excuse to get away."

Bea smiled slightly.

"If Alistair had that option he would likely take it as well," she said dryly.

"Perhaps," the knight responded, his words had turned a little brittle, perhaps he thought she was insulting Alistair, which was not what she had intended at all.

"Perhaps not," he continued, "His Majesty does his duty because it is _**his**_ duty. Cailan, Maker keep him, did not understand that. At times, I fear, he thought that his father had done all the hard work, and now none was left for him. Perhaps I should have tried harder to make him understand that what Maric did was not enough, it falls to each king to remind the people why they must rule, to serve the people, even as they serve their king. If he had known that, if he had understood, maybe Loghain would not have…"

The old knight shuddered.

"Forgive me, Milady," he said, "I mean no disrespect to you or Alistair."

She smiled slightly.

"I feared that I had insulted you ser. Perhaps I should have been the one asking for the apology."

"Your words are appreciated," he said, "Kings and queens are people, they make mistakes, it is the place of me and mine to do what we can to protect them when those mistakes lead to physical harm. When our swords are not needed we do what we can to try and advise our lords and ladies the best we can. Alistair seems more like his father, more open to suggestion. Cailan was far more stubborn."

"It could not have been easy, trying to advise King Maric, I mean," she added quickly, "I've heard that Teyrn Loghain was often at his side, especially after the death of Queen Rowan."

"He was," Se Lionel admitted a small amount of bitterness in his voice.

"I've heard a rumor that you and the Teyrn fought as young men," she said, fearing that she was pushing her luck, but letting curiosity get the better of her, "That you broke his nose after a disagreement."

The Guard Captain smiled slightly.

"I did not _break_ his nose," he clarified, "I did _bloody_ it though. Loghain had lied to Maric, or at the least not told him the whole truth. That lie resulted in the death of someone, someone who should have gotten a fair trial. What Loghain caused to happen was beneath our king, the man he was, and should have been. I confronted Loghain on that and we fought."

"I'm surprised that the Teyrn did not order you punished," she said.

"He was not a Teyrn then, and besides, he understood why I was angry. He thought I was being foolish, trying to defend both the king's honor and the honor of our kingdom, but he understood. He said that I was too honorable for my own good, that I did not understand the cruelties of war, perhaps he was right, but I still believed that we had to be better. The Orlesians had been cruel to our people, my family had suffered, just as much as Loghain's had, there was no reason that we could not at least try to be better than our oppressors."

She thought about that. She had heard the horror stories about the Orlesian occupation, how cruel King Meghren and his followers were to the native Fereldans.

She understood the need to fight fire with fire, but part her applauded that Ser Lionel still clung to the belief that they could be and should be better, that they should not stoop to the methods of tyrants.

"May I ask one more question, Ser Lionel?"

"You may, Milady."

She sighed.

"Did Teyrn Loghain know about Alistair? Was king Maric concerned about his welfare?"

The Knight shifted slightly, his posture suddenly more guarded.

"This is not an easy question for me to answer," he informed her, "Maric forbade those of us who knew about Prince Alistair to speak of him. He made us swear on our honor. All I can say is that Loghain suspected, but said nothing, perhaps because he thought that once Cailan married Anora, their line was secure. As for Maric, I can say that he **did** care about his son's welfare. I…I was on duty the night that Alistair was brought before the king, the only guard on duty permitted to stay since Maric knew of my history with Teyrn Loghain, he knew that I would say nothing to the Teyrn if questioned. That was the night the elven woman in red first presented the little prince to the king."

Bea tilted her head slightly.

"An elven woman?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Was she a servant from Redcliffe? Was she a friend of his lowborn mother?"

Ser Lionel's lips became a grim line.

"Forgive me, Milady, but I can speak no more of this. Perhaps I have even said too much. My oath to Maric holds true. All I can say is that the girl presented the prince to the king, and that the king decided to send him to Redcliffe. I can say no more."

Bea frowned slightly.

This was the first time she had heard of anyone in the palace ever seeing Alistair here as a baby. She was understandably curious, but left Ser Lionel alone.

The man was willing to die defending the man she loved; the least she could do was respect his sense of honor and privacy.

He led her up to the door of her chambers; she informed him that she would likely be awhile, as she searched through her books and maps.

He nodded content to remain at his post.

Bea gave him a gentle smile.

"Alistair is lucky to have you back, good ser," she said, "He has far too many here that would do him harm if they could."

The old knight smiled slightly.

"I've served three kings, and outlived two of them. Perhaps that is a failing on my part…"

The man's expression turned grim.

"One thing I can promise you Milady, whatever comes, I will _**not**_ fail House Theirin again.

She bowed her head slightly.

"That is all that we can ask of a good man ser," she said.

"That is all that we can ask."


	73. A Slippery One

**Chapter 73: A Slippery One**

The warrior snapped to her feet, the chair she had been sitting in tipped over, skidding back from the force of her rising. Her hand dropped to the blade on her belt while her eyes flashed with both disbelief and anger.

She glared down at the little man sitting before her, her hands shaking with rage. The lack of fear and alarm in his eyes only infuriated her further. If she had been any other noble, they might have already cut his throat for such an affront, fortunately for him, she was made of sterner stuff, her father had taught her better than that…

…very fortunate for him.

It was a rare thing when Lis Cousland lost her temper, but when she did she could be a terror, her size and strength could do a lot of damage if left unchecked, especially with all her marshal training.

Somehow, despite her anger, she managed to find her voice, yet it was still almost choked with rage. It was all she could do to get out one single sentence.

" _ **How…how dare you,"**_ she hissed between gritted teeth.

Wilbur Rich said nothing; he simply sat there, and waited patiently for her to regain her self-control. His expression was bland, but she _could_ see a flicker of understanding in his eyes, at least he was not smiling that oily smile of his, if he **had** , she likely would not have been able to restrain herself from doing something terrible.

No point in getting blood on a nice clean floor, she thought, the servants had just finished scrubbing it.

She had no desire to make more work for them.

She did notice that Rich was not as relaxed as he seemed, she could see tension in his shoulders, and how he was restraining himself from looking for an avenue of escape.

Good, she thought.

After what he had suggested, he should feel afraid.

Finally, he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Please try to see things from _**my**_ perspective," he advised, "From the perspective of a man only trying to serve the realm."

Some of the fire went out of her, his words cutting through the red haze. She was suddenly aware that they were being watched. The tavern in which they sat, yet another of Mister Rich's establishments, was currently closed, but that did not mean that it was empty, several of Rich's employees were watching her.

"Please," he gestured to another chair next to her. She glared down at it.

"Please," he repeated in a soft, soothing tone.

The warrior took a deep breath, letting most of the anger she had been feeling flow out with it, and finally sat down.

She took another deep breath, just as Highever's master-of-arms had taught her when she was a girl, slowly; but surely, she found her center again, the place that a warrior needed to be when they stayed focused during a fight.

She met the secretary's even gaze with one of her own.

"My apologies Mister Rich," she said through only slightly gritted teeth, "Losing my temper like that, it was…unworthy of me."

Only then did the oily smile return.

"No apologies necessary," he said, "I meant no insult to you, or your family honor. I was merely making a suggestion, for the good of the kingdom, of course."

Lis sighed.

"You all but accused my brother of _treason_ ," she reminded him.

"I only said your brother is acting… _unusually_ , unusual for a Cousland anyway," Rich gestured for one of his employees to bring them refreshments, a bottle of wine was brought from the back, Lis declined the drink, requesting only simple water.

Her mouth became a grim line.

For what they were discussing, she had no desire to let her mind be clouded by alcohol.

When Rich had asked to meet with her, she had assumed that it had something to do with Bea and her family. The destruction of Bea's work in the Hinterlands had all of her allies scrambling. The circle, once one of their greatest supporters, now were under lockdown by the Templars, to make sure that none of them had had a hand in the attack. Meanwhile, Mother Alison was rallying her forces here in the capital, trying to convince the nobles that it was unwise to let Lady Glass continue wasting their time and their gold.

Rich had informed her that the crown had decided to wait, to watch and remain vigilant for signs of future attacks, in the meantime, he intended to be proactive, to deal with any possible problems that might complicate matters further here in Denerim.

Apparently, he viewed her brother as one of those problems.

"Personally, I do not believe that your Brother, the Teyrn had anything to do with what happened to Lady Glass' plants," he said, "However, I prefer not to simply wait when I can stop a problem before it grows into something worse."

Lis' brow furrowed.

"So you do believe that my brother is up to something?"

"He has not appeared in court, since the king's coronation," Rich reminded her, "Some might say that shows he has no faith in the king's leadership. He has also refused to hear any marriage proposals brought by the various ladies of the realm. Lady Margaret of House Glass, for example, one might have expected that the Teyrn would wed one of his family's allies; your presence here is enough to suggest such an alliance. Why not seal it in blood?"

Lis did not respond to his question. The thought of Fergus marrying Lady Em was…dubious to say the least. Fergus had little in common with Margaret. The boy who he had been, the boy who had married Oriana, might have tried, but Fergus was much older now, much wiser…and more pained than that boy had ever been.

She found herself thinking about Oriana, and little Oren, the thought almost brought a tear to her eye. She tried not to think of how the two had looked the last time she had seen them, dead and broken at the hands of Howe soldiers, it was a scene that still haunted her nightmares, am memory she had shared with no one not even Fergus.

He had his own nightmares; he did not need hers as well.

For her the pain had never entirely gone away, she could only imagine how hard it must be for Fergus, he had come to love Oriana, and Oren had been his whole world since he had first drawn breath.

…A world that had been shattered by Howe treachery.

"My brother still mourns," she said.

"But he has a duty to his name as well."

Lis frowned.

"He lost his entire family," she reminded the man, "his wife and son both."

Rich frowned slightly.

"Your brother is without issue, he needs to think of the future of his line, no matter how deep his grief might be."

Lis fought the urge to scowl.

She found herself thinking about Ser Lionel's rejection of her for the royal guard. He had not said it in as many words, but his rejection was for the same reason that Wilbur Rich now suspected Fergus.

Even thinking about it now made her flush with anger.

Her skills had not mattered to the lord commander, only her duty; he had all but told her to put aside her sword, get married and start having babies…

He had not meant it as an insult, but that is what it had felt like, an affront to her skill as a warrior. It had left her sullen, sullen and unwilling to be seen at court herself.

"Grieving is not evidence of a crime, Mister Secretary," she reminded him.

"True," he said, "But grief can cloud a man's judgement, make him do things that he might not normally do. Tell me, Milady, did your brother ever blame the king for your family's…misfortune?"

"No," she replied, "Never to me anyway."

Rich nodded, his fingers idly stroking his short goatee.

"Have you written to your brother since coming here? Has he written back?

Lis flinched.

She _had_ written. The only response she received was from Fergus' Seneschal, assuring her that all was well. She had also written to Hammond and Branwen, they had made no mention of anything unusual going on in Highever, but that did not mean that it was not going on behind the scenes. They…

Lis shook her head.

No, she thought angrily.

 _I_ _ **refuse**_ _to believe that Fergus is up to_ _ **anything!**_

 _ **I refuse!**_

Yet…at the same time, she could understand Rich's suspicions. Fergus had remained angry for so long, she had hoped coming here; having her out of sight would help remind him that they were blood. She had hoped that he would come to miss her, as much as she missed him, or rather, miss the brother that he had been before Rendon Howe had brought so much death to their door.

Her hands clenched with anger and frustration. Since leaving Highever, she had found a certain perspective on how her brother had treated her, distance had given her that perspective. Where once she had accepted her brother's cold anger with stoic silently, she now felt a flicker of rage at his treatment of her, rage that now grew knowing that he had brought suspicion on the Cousland name.

That thought brought upon another, a more surprising one.

 _You are not angry at Rich, you are angry at Fergus for allowing such suspicion to take root in the first place, and you are angry at his treatment of you, and everything that you have suffered._

 _He forgets himself_ , her conscience chided.

 _They were your family to._

Lis looked away, surprised by the realization. She still did not want to believe that anything was wrong…but…

"I still think that you are mistaken," she told the secretary.

Rich smiled again.

"If I am wrong, then I will accept your "'I told you so" with as much humility as I can muster, but if I'm right. Can we afford to take that chance? Can you afford to take that chance?"

Lis pursed her lips, fighting down the anger that was threatening to come out again.

"I just need you to ask a few questions," He said, "You are a Cousland after all, your brother's allies will trust you."

"Why not use your own people?" she inquired.

"None of them could get close enough," Rich admitted, "Your brother is extremely paranoid about who he lets close to him now, not surprising considering all that has happened."

The Secretary leaned closer, his voice taking on a more conspiratory tone.

"You know Highever Castle, you know the players, who your brother chooses to keep close to him. If anyone can find out what is going on in his head, it is likely you."

Lis snorted at that.

Once there had been no secrets between her and Fergus; that things had fallen apart so fast, that they had drifted so far apart.

It was tragic, and now if she accepted what the Secretary asked, she might kill any chance of her ever reconciling with her brother.

Still…if Fergus was doing something wrong? If he had let his grief push him into dark waters, was it not her duty as his sister to help him, to try and save him?

Wasn't that what their parents would have wanted? Wouldn't Oren and Oriana have wanted that?

She sighed heavily.

She had failed them, all of them, could this be her chance at redemption? This could be her one chance, a chance to restore luster to the Cousland name.

She sighed heavily.

She nodded grimly.

"I will ask a few questions," She promised, "I still have a few friends among the guards and soldiers, maybe they have heard something."

Rich's smile blossomed into a wide happy grin.

"Excellent, Milady," he said, "Excellent!"

He poured her a glass of wine while he refilled his own; he raised it in the air, toasting their new arrangement.

She could not help but feel a slight shudder of shame, fearing she had betrayed her brother, yet, she raised her glass, though she did not drink.

She was only willing to go so far with this possible betrayal...

…Only so far.

Rich lowered his empty glass with a satisfied look on his face.

"Now that business is concluded," he said, "It is time to present a gift to our beloved Lady Bea."

Lis' brow furrowed.

"Gift?" she said, "What gift?"

The secretary gave her a sly smile, and handed he a sealed piece of parchment.

"Give this to Lady Bea and King Alistair," he said, "I'm sure this will lighten their moods…quite nicely.

Lis looked down, something slid out of the parchment as she turned it, a small leaf.

She picked it up, a puzzled look on her face, she recognized it almost immediately. She had spent much time in and around Bea's tower lab.

The leaf had come from one of her friend's plants, one of the less dangerous ones, one of the plants that had been destroyed in the Hinterlands, yet this leaf was _**not**_ burned, it might have been a little dried out, but it looked like it had been plucked from a healthy plant, plucked most recently.

She gave Rich a suspicious look.

"What is this?" she demanded.

He smiled slyly at her.

"A bit of trickery on my part," he confessed, "Trickery that just might save a future."

She looked down at the leaf and again at the grinning man.

It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes.

 _He was a slippery one_ , she thought, _the king's secretary…_

… _But perhaps, in this moment._

 _He was just what they needed._

She sighed.

 _They would see._


End file.
